


The Gift

by CatelynMay, Julia_Five_O_Clock, zaboraviti



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Time Travel AU, there's kinda original female character but it's a reincarnation thing really, think kate & leopold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13422012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatelynMay/pseuds/CatelynMay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julia_Five_O_Clock/pseuds/Julia_Five_O_Clock, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaboraviti/pseuds/zaboraviti
Summary: They say anything is possible at Christmas. But Victoria, a young woman living in present-day London and making a career in advertising, could hardly think she would get a gift from the Victorian era in the most magical time of the year.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Подарок](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/352158) by Catelyn M, Julia Five O'Clock. 



> hello my fellow Vicbourniacs and Vicbournistas, your humble translator here.  
> this one has been a long time coming. i have only managed to translate the first chapter so far and i can't say for sure just how irregular my updates will be - this fic is about novel-sized so forgive me if i feel a bit intimidated (not to mention i'm stretched too thin, with my other translations and real life commitments) but rest assured, updates there will be. here goes nothing. i hope it's to your liking. the authors, [Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221) and [Julia Five O'Clock](https://www.facebook.com/julia.makarenko.5454), worked like mad, writing and researching, they deserve all the praise their fic might get. i, on my part, will do my best to get this story across to those of you unable to enjoy the richness and beauty of the Russian language.

[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

The cold morning sneaked under the blanket, nibbling the toes of her bare feet. Of course, she had forgotten to shut the window and it was pretty chilly in the room. The vile alarm clock was screeching its tedious tune, she couldn’t pry her eyelids open, and her head was sinking back into the pillow. Just five minutes, five tiny minutes more. She fell back asleep only to be pulled back into reality by the same perforating electronic sound.

Victoria rolled over and pulled the blanket over her head. She lay like that for a few seconds, perfectly still, pretending she was in a shelter that could hide her from the worries and hustle of the day outside. Then, in an instant, with one determined motion, she threw the warm cozy covers aside and jumped off the bed. “Shit! I’m going to be late again!” she thought in exasperation after shooting a look at the plastic face of the clock that indifferently counted minute after minute.

Five minutes in the shower, fifteen minutes for frantic dressing and make-up — the earring fell somewhere on the carpet, ah, hell, she will look for it later. She found the keys at the last minute, under the side table in the hall — courtesy of the ubiquitous paw of her mischievous tabby Mr. Findus, who loved entertaining himself with his mistress’s things and watching her reaction afterwards from his corner.

She will get a coffee on the way. She has be completely awake, especially today, the day that will determine the fate of her project, her ad campaign for a new toy manufacturing company. Christmas is just around the corner, and the client is prodding her boss who hates it when things aren’t going as planned. 

Victoria bounced into the office, leaving the buzzing city behind the door; she downed her coffee in one hasty gulp, she fixed the wayward strands of hair. A quick look in the mirror, a well-practiced smile. She scooped the bulky folder with sketches and drafts from the table, heading for the meeting room where representatives of Small Wonders Inc. were eagerly awaiting.

It was a crazy day, not unlike any other. The disappointed clients rejected yet another idea, she was in one hell of a mood, the boss snarled and grumbled, and all the lunatic passers-by kept running somewhere, getting in her way so it was impossible to flag down a taxi. Finally, exhausted and frustrated, Victoria got to the door of her flat. She pulled out her keys when she suddenly caught a faint but persistent smell of burnt plastic. It did not take her long to figure out the source. She flew up the stairs and banged on her ex’s door.

Albert was home. His bleary eyes made it clear that he had just been roused from a deep and sound sleep. He stared blankly at the young woman’s furious face. The room smelled of burned wire. Victoria jerked all windows open and let her words loose.

“Don’t tell me Peel was here and you were running your insane experiments again!”

“It’s just calculations, spatiotemporal computations. We are one step away from a bombshell! You don’t understand! You never understood!”

Like a resentful petulant child, Albert watched his ex-girlfriend from under a thick lock of hair falling over his eyes. Victoria looked at him thoughtfully. She had loved this genius, this mad scientist once but she realized at some point that she needed more than quantum physics lectures. Admonitions were pointless. Victoria spun on her heel and left his flat, thankful that she had made it to his flat before it was too late, yet again. She had to contact Albert’s mother as soon as possible. She was not going to be the holy trinity of his guardian angel, firefighter and emergency aid anymore.

Once safely in her flat, she immediately dialed the familiar number but Baroness Coburg was busy with one of her usual charity actions that were her biggest passion and nobody answered. Victoria fed her whining pet and lied down on the sofa with a promise to herself not to lounge too long. The new mockup had to be ready by tomorrow or her boss, John Conroy, would make her a whipping boy. Or a whipping girl, to be more accurate, she thought, falling into sleep.

When she woke it was late night. A dreadful storm was raging outside, the rain drumming furious against the windowpanes. The violent wind bent the trees, flashes of lightning split the sky again and again. Findus cuddled against her, his fluffy side warm, and mewled indignantly as she jumped off the sofa. _Victoria, you i_ _diot! I'll have to pull an all-nighter again_. _Will I ever have a good night sleep?!_ Exasperated, Victoria padded to the kitchen to make some strong coffee.

Suddenly, she heard a terrible racket behind her. Somebody was pounding at her door as if trying to break it into pieces. Victoria instinctively clutched a large kitchen knife in her hand and called out, “Who’s there?”

“Vic, it’s me! Albert! Please, open up! Quickly!”

Cursing her crazy ex-fiancé, Victoria dashed to the door and unlocked it. Albert stumbled out of the raging storm and into the room, panting, hauling someone on his back, both soaked to their skin.

She thought at first that it was Robert Peel, Albert’s closest friend and colleague from the university where they conducted their research. But the man, whom Albert dragged to the sofa and dumped on the cushions with a gasp of effort, turned out to be taller and broader in the shoulders than Professor Peel, who was worn out thin by his laboratory.

The upholstery got wet in a matter of seconds, because water was running in streams off the stranger’s clothes as if he had just been fished out of the river.

Victoria was about to empty out her entire arsenal of swear words. The lunatic had either done somebody in with his experiments or unloaded a drunken buddy on her. However coming up with elaborate epithets and punishments for her cheeky ex took some time, so Albert took that as his chance to speak first.

“Victoria, please, hear me out. Don’t get mad!”

“Yeah, sure! Why would I be mad?” said Victoria acidly, and if looks could kill, the Albert problem would have been solved once and for all that night. “You only have barged into my flat with some passed out bloke and flooded my sofa. Situation normal, isn’t it?”

“I know, I know I had no right to bother you, but he is so heavy, I couldn’t haul him upstairs. I also happen to know you to be a very kind and understanding person.” Albert swallowed nervously meeting her glare and added, “Deep down.”

“Who is he? Is he drunk or should we call 999? Where have you brought him from, pray tell?”

“Can I please tell you everything tomorrow? He is fine, he just needs to recover after… Please, could just put up with us until tomorrow? I’m going to do everything by myself, I just need some dry towels and blankets to put on the floor. The sofa is dripping wet.”

“You’re right about that,” Victoria said testily. “Towels are in the bathroom, and I’ll get the blankets. But I want both of you out of here in the morning!”

She headed for the bedroom, making a mental note that Albert’s stranger was wearing some very odd clothes, as though he had escaped from a costume ball. Victoria waved the thought away — she had to finish the project and the prospect of ending up on the receiving end of Conroy’s trademark dressing-down did not appeal to her.

  
***

The next morning found her not in her bed but in front of the laptop screen, because she had fallen asleep with her head on a pile of printed out sketches. The idea of Victorian Christmas cards had come to her out of nowhere in the middle of the night when she sat down to work on the project for the toy company. As her phone alarm clock chirped out a loud tune, Victoria lifted her head, already knowing that she would have to drink a gallon of strong coffee today to be alive and kicking.

She quickly got into the shower, feeling with relief that the tingling warm water jets washed the weariness away. Despite the monstrous sleep deprivation, she was in a feisty mood. These snobs from Little Joys better not say her idea wasn’t original. Damn Christmas — everybody makes so much fuss about it! Father Christmas, reindeer, elves and other such nonsense for little kids. She might love this holiday if it wasn’t for certain bleak childhood memories.

After the shower, Victoria came downstairs. Humming something cheerful but not at all Christmassy under her breath, she was about to have coffee in the kitchen — since she was up on time — when she heard a rustle in the living room. Thinking that Albert had forgotten his promise not to bother her with his presence again and swearing she would give him an earful for the last night, she stepped out of the kitchen. But the person in her living room was not her ex-fiancé. The middle-aged man, whom she recognized as the soaked stranger from last night, had obviously recovered enough to have put back on his weird clothes — apparently dried by the thoughtful Albert. He stood in the middle of her living room staring at her with his stern green eyes. He looked confused but he was trying not to show it. When he saw her, he jerked his bushy eyebrows up in surprise and, embarrassed, turned to face the wall. Victoria, who was not used to such a reaction, looked over herself. Nothing was wrong with her — she was wearing her pajamas, a crop top and soft loose pants, and a fluffy robe to protect her from the morning chill.

“Excuse me, young lady. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?” the stranger suddenly asked, turning a little but still resolutely not looking at her.

Victoria hesitated, not knowing what to say. No one had ever spoken to her in this manner. But she quickly composed herself.

“I’d like to ask you the same question.”

“You know my name, and so does your friend, my abductor! You must talk some sense into him, convince him to let me go. The Parliament is meeting today, I shall be missed.”

Right. It's so like Albert to leave her with a lunatic who walks about in the nineteenth century clothes and thinks that he is expected at the Parliament. She has to be careful, who knows what a crazy person could be up to…

“Just a sec, I need to make an important call,” Victoria blurted, stepping back. Her fingers were already dialing Albert’s number.

She retreated to the kitchen and almost yelled as she heard her ex’s voice: “How could you? Why is he still here? Why have you left me alone with this nutjob?”

“Vic, don’t worry! I can explain. Give me a couple more minutes, and I’ll come down to yours. You see, I had to run to the lab for a bit, because my flat has no electricity after last night… Well, you already knew that.”

“You’d better hurry up, Albert, or I’m calling the police!”

Trying to get her bearings, she went back to her bedroom, locked the door and quickly got dressed. She pulled her hair into a tight pony-tail, took the folder with her sketches and her bag, and glanced at the clock, disappointed. No time for coffee.

Albert was waiting downstairs with a laptop in his hand. Behind him, like a living stage set, loomed a tall figure in an old-fashioned shirt and breeches. The stranger was pacing the room, clearly not in a good mood. Victoria watched her uninvited guests in alarm, promising herself to reach the Baroness at all costs and ask her to take Albert under her wing.

“I’m so sorry, Vic, I can’t work in my flat — the electrician will come to fix the wiring, but not before two. And this is a matter of life and death. I have to fix what I’ve done, the sooner the better.”

“And what _have_ you done this time, Albert? Was there an error in your _calculations_ or not enough of, what do you call them, _spatiotemporal computations_?” Victoria asked tartly.

“You will think I’m mad if I tell you, but trust me, this is a scientific breakthrough! I just didn’t think it’d go this far.”

Only then did she register Albert’s pale face and the feverish gleam in his eyes, as if he saw a live dinosaur in the center of London.

“I'm running late, the boss will kill me if I’m not there on time. But when I get back, I’d better not find the two of you here!”

Victoria shut the door of her flat with a loud bang. _Why does Albert always get his way?_ she thought angrily.


	2. Chapter 2

_[© Lady Disdain](http://ladydisdainblog.tumblr.com/) _

 

“Well done! The client is thrilled! Victoria, this is complete and flawless victory!” Conroy’s delighted voice felt like some kind of a silly prank but she had to admit he was right. It was a success — she pulled through and defended her project to the company that had been jerking them around for a month. This was exactly what they wanted. An ad campaign built on Victorian traditions, style and art. All fine and dandy if it wasn’t for the fact that now, in addition to the Christmas cards that inspired Vic to make a few drafts, they needed a competent expert on the Victorian era. They needed to film the commercials and print the posters. But for now she could relax for a little while and enjoy her triumph. Her boss was happy and his face today was almost pleasant.

“With the weekend ahead, I hope you will use this respite to start on the implementation of your beautiful idea on Monday with fresh vigor. We wouldn’t want to disappoint a respectable client like this one, would we?” there was warning laced with ice in Conroy’s voice.

But Victoria just waltzed out of the office. Finally, she could unwind a little. She was already imagining herself sprawled on her sofa, wrapped in her favorite soft throw blanket, when her mind obligingly wondered back to the events of the previous night. The sofa clearly wasn’t dry yet, and the “gift” dumped on her by Albert might well still be in her flat. She could only hope that her ex-fiancé had some scraps of conscience left in him. She had been working her butt off all week long, there had to be some justice in this world!

Victoria opened the door of her flat and listened intently to the silence inside. Findus rubbed against her legs, purring gently, getting up on his hind legs, begging her for affection. She thought with relief that she had finally been left alone but somebody coughed, putting an end to her dreams. She entered the living room and stared in horror at the big armchair that accommodated the lanky stranger covered with none other than her favorite blanket. He did not look half as energetic as in the morning, his face pale, his forehead covered with beads of sweat. Obviously, a walk in the downpour had not done him a lot of good. Her guest did not feel well at all. With an effort, he opened his eyes, saw her and tried to get up but Victoria rushed to his side to force him to stay as he was. She touched his hand — the skin was burning. Victoria pulled off her coat and scarf and fetched the first-aid kit. The necktie around the collar of his weird shirt was already undone. She held out the thermometer but no response came.

“What’s your name?” she asked as softly as she could.

“You know my name,” he answered, barely moving his lips.

“Nevertheless,” Victoria insisted, trying to remain calm. “I want to help you. You have obviously caught a bad cold, perhaps, pneumonia. What if you pass out and I have to call an ambulance?”

“William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, if it may please you. But I do not think you intend to call anyone here, you are disingenuous.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. Her instincts _were_ spot on after all, Albert had made friends with a paranoiac. And yet, she studied with interest the handsome face, the noble profile, the chiseled cheekbones. Some old portraits came to the surface of her memory, the ones from the galleries where Albert had used to drag her from time to time.

“Alright, William. I don’t care which viscount you are, second or thirteenth, I’m going to call an ambulance before it’s too late,” she said firmly, losing her patience.

“It would be better if you allowed me to send a message to Brocket Hall. A carriage will be here immediately. I swear I shall not forget your magnanimity, and your friend’s lunacy shall remain a secret. I shall see that no one finds out about it.”

Without further reservations, Victoria took her phone out of her bag but Albert’s voice made her look up from the screen. He was standing in the doorway.

“No, please no phone calls. Allow me to explain everything. Let’s just help our guest first,” he cried out in fear.

Victoria noticed a small bag from the nearby drugstore in his hands. _Apparently, this William is in trouble with the law, among other things, if he can’t even show up at a hospital. Just_ _what_ _I_ _need_ _!_ Victoria thought in despair, feeling her hopes for a quiet weekend going up in flames.

“Vic, you don’t mind if I put him into your bed, do you? You see he's very ill. I have bought antibiotics and antipyretics. By the way, a mug of hot milk would be nice as well. And do you happen to have some honey?” Albert jabbered, ignoring her austere looks.

“Make him take his temperature first. We have to know his temperature. Actually, since when you’re an expert on colds?”

Victoria saw that Albert was already helping the uninvited guest off the chair and coaxing him to go upstairs.

A couple of futile attempts to ask anything else, she finally gave up, sighed and went into the kitchen to heat some milk.

 

***

Apparently, Albert somehow managed to talk his friend into getting into bed and taking the medicine, because he was soon back in the living room.

“He’s finally asleep. Politicians are so stubborn, I tell you, especially Whigs,” Albert muttered under his nose, sitting down across the table.

“The milk and honey for your friend will be ready in a second,” said Victoria.

“Thank you for agreeing to help. I need support right now.”

“Yeah, like I could say no!” she said wryly. “You were going to explain…”

“It’s not easy… Both to explain and to understand, I mean. You must believe and accept it as a real thing. You see, for a long time, I have been doing spatiotemporal computations, studying these thin substances in terms of physics and mathematics, driving myself insane because I couldn’t seem to grasp the truth that was right on the surface. Even our ancestors knew about it. How blind we were, ignoring the experience and supposedly backward views of the previous generations!”

“For God’s sake, Albert, English, please! What have you done? Why do you look like a flying saucer has landed in the backyard?”

“Because I finally could go through the portal last night. I found it! I made the right calculations and found it! It’s unbelievable, but I traveled two centuries back in time. Vic, I have seen it all with my own eyes. An old estate filled with people who are long gone in our time. I only wanted to take a look but he spotted me and here we are…” Albert put his head in his hands, squeezing his temples. “Oh boy! What’s going to happen now?”

“Albert, I’m sorry, but you’re nuts! I always knew this would happen someday, and now I see I was right, it is serious!”

He seemed oblivious to her voice and went on, staring at the wall in front of him, as if he saw something there, “You read Bradbury, didn’t you? Well, a butterfly crushed by the sole of a boot can change the course of history. And I actually took a well-known politician out of his time, an important and noticeable figure in every way. Should I fail to put him back where he belongs, who knows if we will still be sitting and talking here tomorrow.”

Albert was shaking with frantic excitement — or he might have caught a cold in the rain last night. Victoria stared at him, wondering why she still hadn’t called Baroness Coburg. She rose from her place, came up to his and put her arm around his shoulders.

“I tell you want, you are going to calm down now and go back to your flat, and I’m going to take milk to William.”

“So he told you who he is?” Albert interrupted her.

“Yes, I asked and he said he was some kind of viscount.”

“No, you don’t understand! He is not just some kind of viscount, he is Lord Melbourne, Queen Victoria’s Prime Minister!”

“This is all very confusing, Albert, it’s too much for me. Can we please talk tomorrow? Meanwhile, take something for your nerves and something for your cold.”

“Fine,” Albert forced a nod. “I’m going to have to pull myself together and get down to work tomorrow. I have to make things right as soon as possible. Thank you.”

Victoria walked Albert to the door, assuring him that she would take good care of the two-hundred-year-old star of the British politics so that he could return to the nineteenth century in one piece.

But as soon as she made sure that Albert was safely back in his flat, she grabbed the phone and dialed the familiar number. This time she heard the sonorous voice of her ex-would-be-mother-in-law, with whom she was still on friendly terms.

Then she picked up the mug from the table and went upstairs, to her bedroom, where on her bed lay a total stranger, whose presence, according to Albert could change the course of history. This is ravings of a madman, Victoria said to herself again. This man must be a participant of some cosplay thing in one of the numerous Victorian mansions and the hapless scientist took him for a visitor from the past. She heard that actors sometimes have trouble breaking character and enjoyed messing with other people’s heads. _Well, this one is definitely a medical case_ , she thought watching the patient as he closely studied the thermometer and the lit bedside lamp.

She put the milk on the bedside table and said, suddenly shy under his direct gaze, “Here, drink this, it’s good for your cold too.”

“Thank you. You are very kind,” he said plainly, as if resurfacing from his anxious thoughts. “I hope we shall sort out this incident soon enough. Albert promised me that I shall not stay here long. I have to admit, I find this situation to be akin to a nightmare.”

“Yeah, you and me both. Good night. Get well,” Victoria said quickly, hurrying out of the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

Victoria knew it was silly but her stubborn fingers were typing _William Lamb 2nd Viscount Melbourne, Prime Minister_ into the search box. She pored over random texts and looked through images, finding more and more coincidences. Her rational mind could not allow the thought that it could be something more than a coincidence, and Lord Melbourne’s portraits did nothing to convince her in the least that the man in her bedroom upstairs was that very politician. You could see some resemblance in the features but the stranger that had called himself by the historical name certainly was much better looking. _Must be an actor. A crazy actor lost on his character. Just like Albert with his science_. Victoria was curled up in her favorite armchair, wrapped in the soft blanket, breathing in the subtle sweet fragrance of an unfamiliar perfume with pronounced notes of clove.

She woke up in the morning to Albert making quite a noise in the kitchen — he had used his key to enter her flat as he always did. Victoria stretched and thought that she wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee. As if reading her mind, Albert entered the living room with a tray, humming a cheerful tune. He was definitely in a much better mood than the previous day.

“Morning!” he crooned, placing the tray on the coffee table. “What are your plans for today?”

“Well, I--” she started but he didn’t give her a chance to finish.

 “Our guest is feeling much better! Isn’t it remarkable how resilient people used to be in the past? I was thinking, since you’re staying in anyway, could you look after him? I have to finish my calculations asap and make a short trip. I think I know when another portal will open! I will make everything right very soon!”

“Wait, are you really going to leave me alone with this lunatic for the whole day?”

“Not a lunatic — he is not a lunatic, I have already explained this to you, this man has done nothing wrong, it’s all my negligence, my monstrous recklessness! Trust me, he is a gentleman to the bone, he won’t hit on you, he won’t start a row. He is gallantry personified. Just please don’t let him out of the flat. Who knows what seeing our world could do to a nineteenth century mind.”

“Albert, you are impossible! When are you coming back?” she knew arguing with him would achieve nothing. There was only a faint hope that her ex-fiancé’s family would take action.

“I will be back toward evening! Sorry for the inconvenience!” Albert yelled from the hallway, hastily shrugging his coat on. The sound of the door slamming shut came seconds later.

Victoria lazily watched a Saturday breakfast show, thinking that she should probably go upstairs and check on her mysterious guest. Finally, she convinced herself she had nothing to be afraid of. After all, she had taken self-defense classes, and this William looked harmless enough.  With the look of sheer determination on her face, she climbed the stairs and carefully turned the doorknob.  Strangely enough, her guest was already up. He stood by the window staring outside, the heavy curtain closed by Albert the previous night now drawn to the side. When William heard her footsteps, he turned around, straightened his jacket and tilted his head.

“Good morning, Miss. You have startled me.”

She looked into his slightly dazed chartreuse eyes.

“Morning. I’m glad you’re getting better so quickly. What is happening there?” she asked stepping to the window. The view was the same as always, the outline of the City looming through the fog, ever-hurrying cars speeding by. She didn’t see anything that could disconcert her new acquaintance so.

“Please pardon my reaction.” He sat on the edge of the bed, wiping his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief that he had pulled out of his pocket. “Since it all happened, my mind has been begging for mercy. It seems that everything your scientist friend told me yesterday is true.”

“Did he put it in your head that you were from the nineteenth century, or was it the other way around?” Victoria said tartly.

“Excuse me, it is not at all easy to put anything in my head. I choose to believe only the things I can see and feel myself. And this is incredible! These contraptions in your hours, the miraculous remedies, the towering buildings in the street, the carriages without horses and coachmen. This is incredible but I am here and I have no idea for what reason or purpose.”

“Don’t you think that’s quite enough, William? An excellent performance. I was this close to believing you but it’s time you broke character. I can call a taxi for you if you want. Just tell me the address.”

He looked at her with a sad half-smile, as if resigned to something, and said, “Brocket Hall.”

“Do you work there?”

“I beg your pardon? I live there. Brocket Hall is my home.”

“Oh no. Here we go, same old song and dance. Right, let’s wait until Albert comes back. Meanwhile, I’m going to take care of lunch. Come down in half an hour.”

“Once again, I must apologize, miss. You never told me your name.”

“Victoria,” she answered curtly.

The man’s reaction was surprising. He chuckled in astonishment, as if the name brought back a memory, the golden green of his eyes suddenly warmer.

“How odd, how very odd…” he whispered, eyeing her as though he saw her for the first time. After a short pause, he apparently realized that he had been staring for too long and made an attempt to bring the conversation back on track.

“I would love to accept your invitation but I’m afraid I cannot change for the occasion.”

Mesmerized, Victoria heard her own voice saying, “Not a problem. Albert left some of his stuff here. I think his clothes will fit you. Oh, by the way, you will find a disposable razor and a new toothbrush in the bathroom.”

 

***

The self-proclaimed viscount sat at the table stiff as a poker. Victoria felt like she was at a royal reception in the Buckingham Palace, although she had never seen one that wasn’t on a TV screen. She watched him tensely, his face suspicious as he opened the carton box of noodles like he had never done anything of the kind before.

“I didn’t know what your lordship prefers, so I took the liberty of ordering chicken,” she said, playing along.

Now that William was in normal clothes, Victoria found it easier to talk to him. The soft loose jumper was a perfect fit. She had also found a Marks & Spencer bag with unopened underwear and shirts in her closet. Albert, ever the scatterbrain, never took them to his burrow.

Maybe now he will finally tell her the truth about himself. As wild and unbelievable as him entering her life was, she enjoyed sitting there at the table with him in his midday hour. She liked his raspy voice and his dejected green eyes.

William was still diligently playing the part of an English aristocrat. Slowly fishing bits of food out of the box, he looked as if the very sight of it insulted him but didn’t say anything to spare her feelings. Still, a couple of minutes later, the guest abandoned his noble attempts at good manners.

“I apologize for the inappropriate question, but just what might a young lady living in these modest apartments do in this odd new reality? Can it be that you… work?” he asked suddenly.

“I’m in advertising design. My job is to make people buy more products of certain companies. I couldn’t become an artist but I do make a mean donut box design,” Vic smiled but a hint of sadness in her voice was unmistakable.

“You are creative then. I know a young lady who is very fond of painting. She can spend hours with her watercolors, even I have to sit for a portrait now and then. Not to mention Dash. Dash is her favorite dog, he barely bears being sketched but does it with commendable stoutness.”

“Your daughter?”

“Oh no, of course not, but I dare think of myself as a devoted friend,” he said with a sad half-smile. He looked like he remembered something far away and unattainable.

Victoria watched her lunch companion, wondering why his mentioning some girl with such aching tenderness made her feel so clearly annoyed. Or jealous? Silly as it sounded, Victoria had to admit that the man inexplicably excited her.

The shrill ring of the phone broke the spell. The hard voice on the other end of the line said in a clipped tone, “Victoria, it’s time you applied your talents in a new capacity. You have an opportunity to become the coordinator of the entire project — if you succeed, of course. Leave for Brocket Hall as soon as possible. The golf club administration gave us the permission for a photo shoot. You have only two days. Expenses are not your problem but everything must be up to scratch. Do you understand?”

“Of course, I understand, John. But how am I supposed to get the whole team together on a weekend? And what about the costumes, the models, the props?”

“Now those _are_ your problem!” he cut her rambling short. “The photos must be on my desk by Monday morning period. Have a nice day,” Conroy hung up in his usual unceremonious manner.

William watched her with curiosity, wondering about the silver rectangle with a sharp voice coming out of it. He didn’t yet understand everything about this new reality that kept perplexing him every minute.

“You said something about Brocket Hall, didn’t you?” asked Victoria, having thought a little. “You have a chance to go there today. The hotel administration rescheduled the photo shoot for this weekend and we have to set out immediately. To be honest, I have no idea how I’m going to spin this. I don’t even have time to find a consultant. Although…” And then it dawned on her. “Perhaps you could help me?”

Melbourne only spread his arms.

“I shall do my best to be of use to you but I can hardly imagine in what way--”

“We’ll figure it out there! I have to make a few phone calls and you should try to eat at least half of your lunch. I don’t think we’ll be able to have a proper meal today. We’re going to spend the night at Brocket Hall too. I’ll text Albert, although he always leaves his phone lying around.”


	4. Chapter 4

William sat next to her in the taxi, hypnotized by the sight of the high buildings and cars rushing by.

“Incredible, inconceivable,” he kept saying, staring at the bustling streets through the window.

As they were passing the Houses of Parliament and the Big Ben towering over them, his eyes grew even wider.

“It has been built after all! I only saw the drawings but it does look impressive!”

Victoria was starting to get used to the unusual behavior of her new acquaintance. She often had to deal with creative types, and there were some downright eccentrics among those. One of her college pals had for a long time thought that he was an alien stranded on Earth and he was quite a sociable fellow nevertheless.

When an old mansion with coral painted walls came into view at the end of the alley, Vic thought that this was the perfect place for her idea to come to life. The interior, judging by the photos on the website, was simply magnificent.

The welcome party was already waiting in the entrance hall. A loud excited voice sputtered into her ear.

“Victoria, love, I’ve done my best but one of your models is late! Luckily, Matthew just happened to be in town. Good thing the costumes are ready! I’m shocked! Conroy is Mr. Evil, I always said that,” the young doe-eyed fashion stylist rolled his eyes in affectation and took her by the arm. Anthony, her Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design mate, was quickly advancing in his profession in London but he always found time for her in his tight schedule.

“And whom have you brought with you?” he asked, eyeing Melbourne with curiosity.

“A good friend of mine, he sometimes consults filmmakers on historical periods, and I thought…” Victoria said hastily.

“You know I can’t stand outsiders on the set!” Anthony exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be great. You are saving me, as always! I don’t even know how many cocktails I owe you by now!”

“Just smile, gorgeous, that will be enough!” Anthony relented. “I can already see us celebrating your future triumph! Come on, come, you are going to love the drawing room where we’re shooting.”

Victoria smiled against her will — it was always so easy to smile with Anthony.

She didn’t notice that William was no longer by her side. The master of Brocket Hall had no need of tour guides.

The hastily thrown together team assembled in one of the drawing rooms of the big mansion, the so-called Morning Room, in which the professional equipment was set up. Matthew, the god of advertising gloss, was already fiddling with the camera, and Anthony hovered around his models who were to be dressed in Victorian-era costumes.

A giant of a fir tree sported beautiful decorations provided by the advertisers. They only needed to do a bit of sprucing up and wait for their star model to arrive. Mona, the darling of glamor magazines, had been snatched from the jaws of a well-known agency.

Victoria was admiring the high fretted ceiling, the elegant furniture, the marble fireplace and the big windows that filled the room with light. _The pictures will be magical_ , she thought, wondering why she felt so at ease there, having never been a fan of this style.

She was surprised to see William enter the room, because she thought he was somewhere around. The furious indignation on his face was poorly concealed.

“What happened? Where were you? You can’t just wander about. Everything has to be discussed with the administration first.”

He didn’t seem to hear.

“How can this be?! How allowed this?! His portrait next to Caroline’s! Unthinkable! This _is_ a bad dream!” the gentleman was almost shaking.

“What are you talking about, William? Are you in character again? Please, come here and tell me what you think about Anthony’s work.”

Mebourne’s face fell, his bushy eyebrows going up, as if he saw something obscene.

“I’m sorry, Miss Victoria, what is this?”

“Victorian-era ladies’ dresses, can’t you see?”

“I very much doubt that a self-respecting lady would wear anything of the sort,” he said. His voice was unexpectedly loud and Anthony turned on his heels, his long lashes fluttering.

“Believe me, these dresses are a poor choice, and your dresser doesn’t know how to lace a corset.”

Anthony muttered something under his nose in his native Italian. No one had ever referred to him as a dresser.

“Don’t you see? These colors are only good for a-- a carnival! And the hem is too short, and only one of the ladies is wearing gloves. The other one has so many jewelry on that she could compete with the Christmas tree.”

Anthony rolled his eyes and stormed out, dramatically brushing off tears with the well-manicured tips of the delicate fingers.

Victoria followed him, trying to console her friend.

“I’m not doing this! You hear me? I’m not having my work criticized by some homespun aesthete! Oh, now look what he’s done, I’m all puffy now,” he complained, looking in the mirror at his eyelids that were slightly swollen from crying.

“Anthony, I know it’s not easy, but you have to admit he’s right. We’ve never had to deal with historical periods before, all these details and nuances, and our clients are so fastidious. They want the best. What if they’re barraged with comments from experts and aficionados of the era after the ad comes out? What excuses are we going to offer? You can pick new costumes or alter these a little, based on William’s advice. We need only one today anyway, for Mona. When is she going to be here, by the way?”

“You’re right, Vicky! I have become too sensitive after my breakup with Tom, it’s just so hard… Well, okay! I’ll give your green-eyed expert all my attention. I hope he won’t pull Mona’s dress to pieces. It’s gorgeous. You’ll see.”

 

***

It was getting late but the photo shoot had yet to start. Victoria kept looking into the windows nervously, hoping to see Mona’s taxi. Her phone was out of service. Matthew stressed out — the light was changing and he had to readjust the settings over and over again. Finally, she ran out of patience. The flaky model may break her contract with their agency if she wants, but Victoria won’t let anyone sabotage the shoot today!

“Anthony, get that dress over here!” she ordered. “I’m going to be your model tonight!”

“Fabulous! We’ll have to take the hem up a bit but other than that it’s perfect for you,” the young man brightened up. Without a prompt, his assistant darted to the rack and the pile of boxes temporarily accommodated in the billiard room.

“I don’t even know why we had to wait for that broomstick, she just does my head in every time,” Matthew said happily, tinkering with his camera again.

William peeked out of his deep armchair, where he had been stewing in some obviously bleak thoughts.

“Would Sir Expert care to help? He did point out that I’d dressed my models all wrong. Let him handle all those hooks and ribbons.” Seeing Melbourne’s embarrassment, Anthony added, “Then we’ll see who’s the dresser emeritus here.”

“You see, Anthony, I mostly had to _un_ dress ladies rather than dress them,” deadpanned Lord Melbourne, diving back into his thoughts.

Victoria heard that verbal joust and, for some reason, William’s last phrase made her cheeks burn.

 _What the… This is getting ridiculous!_ she chastised herself as she hurried to the billiard room to change into the gorgeous dress.

Despite his frustration with the _expert’s_ comments, Anthony got to work zealously. His dress of choice for the main poster was deep burgundy, off-shoulder, with a beautiful neckline. It would bring out Victoria’s expressive brown eyes and the delicate color of her skin perfectly.

She put on one item after another, already feeling like a cabbage head. There seemed to be no end to ribbons, strings and clasps. She had to put on stockings, lacy drawers, a shift and a tight corset — so tight that Anthony’s assistant almost broke Victoria’s ribs lacing her up. Then came the turn of the linen camisole, countless petticoats with frills — first light ones, then heavier, lace and ribbon trimmed ones — and finally, the gown itself.

While the quick fitting was on, the hairstylist was already working on Victoria’s hair, and soon her thick brown hair were made after the mid-nineteenth century fashion.

When Victoria appeared on the doorstep of the Morning Room, she was unrecognizable. Matthew froze on the spot with the camera in his hands — the young woman, who was usually businesslike and sometimes sassy, now looked like she should be wearing a crown. Everybody was loudly expressing their admiration but Melbourne stood still by the window, staring at Vic as if he saw someone painfully familiar. Apparently, his reaction didn’t go by unnoticed, because Anthony announced, clearly addressing him, “Okay, pick your jaws back up, people, we have things to do! And what does our esteemed expert have to say now?”

“I have to say that this is quite close to the original,” William muttered dazedly.

“Well,” Anthony beamed. “I think we’re going to get along just fine after all! You’ll help me with the preparation for the morning shoot tomorrow. Darling, are you feeling alright?” he suddenly asked a very pale Victoria, who was gasping for air.

The tightly laced corset didn’t let her take a proper breath. Anthony’s assistant had clearly overdone it. Victoria had been keeping a stiff upper lip up to this moment, but now she felt the parquet vanishing beneath her feet and her knees turning to jelly. She instinctively tried to reach behind her back to loosen the ribbon jaws squeezing her diaphragm, but it was a hopeless endeavor. Melbourne darted to Victoria’s side and caught her at the last moment as she was already fainting. Having quickly dealt with the hooks on her back, he loosened the lacing with a steady hand. Anthony, scissors at the ready, stood watching the captivating scene. Half-undressed and still pale, Victoria was slowly coming to in the arms of the uptight gentleman who hurled lightning bolts left and right.

“What a barbarity! You have very nearly killed her! When I mentioned your dresser’s mistakes with the corset, I did not mean that it should be tights as the Spanish boot.”

Victoria gratefully looked at her savior, feeling so fragile in his strong arms, as if for a moment she was one of those delicate ladies Jane Austen wrote about. Which was odd, because she never found this particular entry in the school literature curriculum particularly inspiring. And she didn’t carry smelling salts with her either.

Having finally caught her breath, Victoria stubbornly demanded that the work continue.

“This is highly unreasonable, given what you have experienced. It would be best for you to rest and recuperate. But since you are so sure of yourself, please at least allow me to help you with your gown, seeing how none of your colleagues can do it properly,” he shot another stern look at Anthony and his assistant whose only response was embarrassed silence.

His strong fingers barely brushed her back, skillfully restoring the lacing just so, allowing the young woman breathe easily. Victoria couldn’t explain it but for a moment she felt as if she was utterly and completely in his power and her face traitorously blushed a violent shade of crimson again. Oh, how she hated this peculiar habit of hers that always gave away her true emotions.

“How are you feeling, Miss Victoria?” William asked gently when he finished.

“Much better. Now I can at least breathe freely. I don’t think I could dance all night though,” she tried to laugh it off. The self-proclaimed viscount stared at her in amazement and sighed.

Matthew clicked away, tirelessly and loudly admiring his new model who happened to be the girl he had known and liked very much for a very long time. Melbourne returned to his armchair to watch the process with exasperation written all over his face. He too was admiring Victoria. Her uncanny resemblance to his young queen was so obvious and so painful that it made his heart ache. But the enthusiastic way the photographer expressed his delight, always touching her, showing what pose she should take, simply unbalanced William.

They had a late dinner reserved at the restaurant of the golf club. Now they could settle into their rooms at Melbourne Lodge and unpack. Everybody marched together into the entrance hall to wait for the “special transport”. Compact electric golf carts with uniformed drivers took guests wherever on the grounds they wanted to go.

Victoria turned round in the doorway.

“William, come on, people are waiting!”

But he didn’t even touch his hastily packed holdall with a change of clothes and the carpetbag they had taken from Victoria’s flat and just followed her to the steps of the front porch.

Once outside, Melbourne looked to his left, in the direction of the brightly lit welcoming windows of the former stables and said stubbornly, “I couldn’t spend the night there. This is out of the question! I have never slept in the stables and I am not going to start now! I shall stay in my own bedroom and nowhere else!”

The emphatic “oh!” was all Victoria managed to say to this very dramatic tirade. She shuffled off to settle the issue of the extra charge with the manager, too exhausted after the long day to argue with the hard-headed paranoiac that made her imagination explode with fantasies that were quite creative although completely unrelated to advertising. After tedious but brief negotiations with the administrator, the _expert_ was accommodated in _his own_ bedroom.

Once she made sure that Sir Aristocrat wouldn’t give her any more bellyache and that she could go to another building and settle into her own room, Victoria realized she didn’t want to leave him. Saying goodbye, he slightly tilted his head, took her hand and pressed a light kiss to it. It caught her completely off guard. She thought her heart skipped a couple of beats when he looked straight into her eyes and said in that raspy baritone of his, “See you tomorrow, Miss Victoria. Sweet dreams.”

He wrote his name in the guestbook — _William Lamb,_ in a calligraphic handwriting, flourishes and curlicues and all — and placed a shiny golden sovereign with Queen Victoria’s profile on the counter of the reception desk before he made his unhurried way up the chiseled staircase to the first floor. He knew the way to his own bedroom perfectly well. The gentleman’s luggage remained in the armchair and the clerk, having expertly swept the golden coin into his pocket, quickly scooped the holdall and the carpetbag and ran after the imposing guest. The order of brandy and a light snack to be delivered into the best suite of Brocket Hall was fulfilled lightning-fast and without objections.

Victoria had trouble falling asleep — despite the exhaustingly crazy day, despite the late supper in the warm company of “creators” and demigods of advertising. Finally, worn out by fits and snaps of restless drowse, she slid off the bed and walked to the window. Peering into the dark of the night, she thought about her mysterious companion that had been dumped on her sofa two days ago. No man had ever had this effect on her. She burned when he stood next to her and her heart danced a jig. And she was starting to believe that his odd manner of speaking, his habits and opinions were more than just those of a nutty actor. Perhaps these old walls that had seen so much were putting these ideas into her head. Getting back under the blanket, Victoria said to herself that she might be going insane. Today it really seemed to her as though William was not a guest at Brocket Hall but its true and rightful master.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the long wait. it has been a weird summer, periods of insane productivity and heavy workload interspersed with days of limp apathy. i hope the text doesn't feel strained - it does take an effort to find the right mojo again.

[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

Brocket Hall was waking up, slowly and lazily. The well-trained staff noiselessly scurried along the empty foyer, making the magnificent interior look perfect, filling the many vases in every room with fresh flowers. The morning sun traveled across the antique mirrors and gilding.

Victoria’s night was restless until she finally fell asleep in the small hours of morning, dreaming of a velvety voice and feather-light touch of strong hands conquering her will. There were muffled conversations and a sea of unfamiliar faces swirling on the dancefloor lit by the soft flickering of hundreds of candles.

Victoria winced in discontent, when the familiar tune playing into her ear jerked her out of the bizarre dream. It was so nice that she did not want to go back to reality. She stared at her phone, perceiving it as a completely alien element, and turned off the alarm. But not a moment passed before Conroy’s voice said in her mind, _“Victoria, it’s time you applied your talents in a new capacity. You have an opportunity to become the coordinator of the entire project — if you succeed, of course.”_ Of course, she will succeed! John can scheme and plot all he wants, he won’t see her fail. She just needs to pull herself together and forget the delusion that has been haunting her since yesterday.

The breakfast for the crew was served in the dining room. The pistachio green walls, the fireplace and the elegant pillars made for a special atmosphere. Victoria studied the portraits on the walls. The plate under one of them said _Lady Caroline Lamb_. It was painted in the Romantic style and portrayed a lovely face framed by almost tar-black curls. A iconic portrait of Lord Byron was on the opposite wall — it was impossible not to recognize this character!

“Oh, I see! Of course!” Victoria remembered the details of Melbourne’s biography she had read on the Internet. The portrait of the famous lover of the lady of the house was indeed displayed rather conspicuously in plain sight. “He certainly did his homework,” she nodded, thinking how artistically William had played the outrage of a cuckolded husband.

But the irony gave way to sadness and compassion. Poor real William Melbourne, how much he had to ensure! Malicious tongues must have been even sharper back then, and the scandal truly colossal!

“Vicky, darling, you are not in a museum! Stop ogling the paintings. I know you can look at all this for hours but what we need now is a good breakfast. We have too much to do!” Anthony energetically pulled her to the table, where Matthew pretended to be listening to the animated chatter of the models. When he saw Victoria, he immediately switched his attention to her, bombarding her with questions about the photo shoot.

Suddenly, a complete silence fell over the room, as if somebody had hit pause. A tall gentleman, who looked like he had come right off one of the Victorian era paintings hanging on the walls of the mansion, stood in the doorway. Had it been night, he could have been easily mistaken for a wandering ghost.

Dressing for breakfast, William put on his immaculate frock coat and closely fitting trousers with stirrups — he was more used to this kind of garment. He was not comfortable with the modern shirt and the lack of cravat, but the unexpected reaction of his new acquaintances perplexed him even more. However, he marched into the dining room with the look of unperturbed nonchalance, nodding slightly to the company, and approached Victoria’s table.

“Welcome, Mr. Darcy! Rad getup!” Matthew called out cheerfully. “I didn’t know you made up a male character too,” he said to Victoria, who was too nonplussed to answer, staring at her _expert_.

“Oh. My. God! Tell me, tell me now — where have you had it made?” Anthony finally shook off his stupor. “I have never seen such a perfect cut. And the trousers, they are just off the charts! You _have_ to tell me where you got this beauty. Wait though, I think you’re missing a necktie!”

“I shall be most grateful if you lend me one. I’m afraid mine is rather ruined.”

“But of course! My pleasure. If you give me a sample, I can make an exact copy! Come to my van after breakfast, it’s my shop on wheels. You can also advise me on the issues of the nineteenth century fashion. I can see you _are_ an expert!”

“I am afraid, ladies and gentlemen, I cannot share breakfast with you. I suddenly find myself without an appetite. Please excuse me,” Melbourne said, shooting a quick glance at the damn portraits and disappearing behind the door before Victoria could stop him.

“I think I’m not hungry either,” she said hastily. She put down her coffee, got up and followed William. Anthony sighed and rolled his eyes, the models exchanged cryptic looks, and Matthew pushed his plate away in exasperation.

 

***

Victoria caught up with him in the hall.

The morning desk clerk wasn’t in the least surprised to see a living museum showpiece strolling around the place like he owned it. “Movie people again! Last time they were sticking their noses everywhere,” he thought, arranging business cards and brochures of the golf club and the hotel on the massive marble counter in a perfectly symmetrical order.

“William, why won’t you come out of character? We both know that you are no more Melbourne than I am Queen Elizabeth II! I do find your immersion in the historical period commendable but there’s a limit to everything. Your act has almost convinced me. Just admit it, just tell me you are a great, brilliant actor, and I will believe you,” Victoria looked hopefully into his green eyes and suddenly, captivated by the magnetic pull of his stare, found herself afraid to hear the truth.

The sound of William’s voice brought her back to reality.

“I am sorry, Miss Victoria, but lying is against my principles. However, if you allow me, I might endeavor to convince you that everything I have said and done is in fact true. This will not take much time. Please, follow me.”

Victoria could not think of a barb to throw back at him. An anxious foreboding coiled in her chest but the more time she spent with him the more she wanted to believe him for some reason. Spellbound, she followed him as he walked confidently through one room after another. Finally, William opened the door to the library and stopped, waving her in. Fear and curiosity gripped her, and a crazy thought flashed in her head. _This is probably how Alice felt before she jumped into the rabbit hole!_

The room looked solemn but felt cozy. Ancient tomes stood behind the glass doors of the light-colored bookcases. Two large, deep armchairs with cream-colored silk upholstery placed opposite the already familiar sight of a fireplace beckoned to settle down with a favorite book.

“I spend a lot of time here, writing letters, working on my commentary to John Chrysostom. Do you like reading?”

“I do but I haven’t held a paper book in ages. I usually read digital versions or listen to audiobooks,” Victoria mumbled in response, struggling to overcome the growing tension.

“This house has been in our family since the middle of the eighteenth century and no one except the owners know all of its secrets. Allow me to show you.”

He walked to one of the bookcases and looked over the row of many-colored spines with golden embossing. Then he pulled a hefty leather-bound volume off the shelf, put it carefully on the tea table and stuck his hand inside the opening in the bookcase. His fingers found the secret panel, moved it aside and pressed the invisible lever. Invisible gears turned with a screech, and the shelf slowly slid to the side, opening a dark space. The strong smell of mold and dust hit Victoria’s nostrils. The door obviously hadn’t been opened in two hundred years. She felt her face flush, her heart threatened to burst through her chest. She instinctively reached for Melbourne’s hand and the warmth of his palm wrapped around her trembling fingers.

The light from the room illuminated a narrow spiral staircase leading upwards. William moved inside and stood on the first step that groaned under his weight. Victoria carefully followed himt. The room above the library was surprisingly light but the stale air and dust kept the interior murky. The elegant writing desk and the Chippendale style armchair, the wardrobe and the ottoman made this bachelor pad almost lived-in. The light was coming in from the small octagonal window under the ceiling, which was unexpected for a secret hiding place. William opened a desk drawer and took out an elegant monogrammed silver snuffbox — he had kept his father’s gift all those years.

Even if it all was only a mystification, it looked incredibly convincing. Shocked into silence, Victoria examined the secret study, Albert’s words sounding less and less absurd with every passing second.

They climbed back down to the library, their hands still clasped together. William sorted out his frock coat — squeezing his broad shoulders into the narrow alcove, he had brushed the dusty wall. They carefully closed the library door and walked out into the hall. A nervous shiver wrecking her body, questions dancing on the tip of her tongue, Victoria nevertheless felt the remarkable soothing effect of William’s warm hand. She had to get back to work.

 

***

Tension twisted the air in the drawing room. The client, a Harrods supplier, sat on one of the sofas, the long-legged and absolutely unruffled Mona perched beside him. It was clear as day — the brazen hussy showed up with her ageing playboy after having sabotaged yesterday’s shoot.

“I understand, sir, but the dress has already been fitted to Victoria’s figure, the refitting will take time. And the fabric! The fabric will be completely ruined! I can’t commit this act of barbarity! And Matthew took some excellent shots yesterday!” a very disconcerted Anthony almost wailed.

The photographer muttered something under his nose. He was not enjoying the sudden appearance of his _favorite_ model either — to put it mildly.

“If Mona doesn’t mind, we’ll put her on another poster,” Victoria said from the doorway, fixing the model with a scathing look. “As the project coordinator, I can’t allow the shoot to go off the rails!”

Mona snorted her displeasure and turned to her companion, a sneer playing on her lips.

“That wasn’t the agreement!” she drawled petulantly.

“You’re right about that, Mona, the agreement wasn’t that the entire crew has to wait for you all day, while you don’t even bother to pick up the phone!”

“You must admit that time is money and our staying here isn't cheap,” Victoria pointed out, speaking to the client. “If we start refitting the dress and throw yesterday’s material into the garbage, you have wasted a small fortune.”

A few minutes of tense silence, and Victoria knew she had won. The man sighed, knowing she was right, and delivered his verdict.

“Right, I do have the admit, yours is a very practical approach. But Mona can’t be left out of this project, she is the star of our advertising campaign. You will think of a role worthy of her, won’t you?”

“Of course, we will! And now if you allow us, we’ll begin.”

Victoria made her way to Anthony who was waiting for the outcome of this dialogue anxiously.

“I think it’s time. Where is that torture device from yesterday? Let’s make a prim young lady out of me,” she said to the fashion stylist, who was nearly jumping up and down, cheered up by the happy resolution of the delicate situation.

“There you go! I always said you have a royal temper! By the way, the children are going to be here any minute now. The boy is my nephew and the girl is Skerrett’s daughter, you know, our hair stylist. Little Christmas angels!” Anthony’s ecstatic gibbering was almost endearing.

In less than an hour, the Morning Room was filled with beautiful ladies in the Victorian era dresses. The boy and the girl, five and seven years old, took their places by the Christmas tree. William gave Anthony a few recommendations on the costumes, just as he had promised, and they looked perfect now. A square of snow-white muslin was transformed into a cravat. The gentleman expertly tied the knot and Anthony, now completely smitten, forgave him all the unflattering comments on his work.

“I should think you will not require my help, Miss Victoria?” William asked, approaching her. “I need to have a word with the gardener and examine the glasshouses. I hope they are maintained in the proper order.”

“Won’t this gentleman be in the photos?” said a bewildered voice. The client had wished to watch the creative process, and the sight of the immaculately elegant William with the elaborately tied necktie and the noble silver on his temples produced a striking effect on the man.

“He is our Victorian era expert, no more than that. We had no intention of using him in the actual shoot,” Victoria explained hastily.

“But he is a perfect fit! Lord and lady here in Brocket Hall! By the Christmas tree! Yes, this is exactly how it should be.”

“Well, we… Only if William agrees,” Victoria stared at him, looking dazed and lost.

“This is out of the question, sir. I am a politician, not an actor!” Melbourne refused flatly, turning to the company representative.

“I’ve never seen politicians working in advertising. I don’t care who you think you are!”

William's gaze became hard, his lips pressed into a thin strained line, his eyes grew darker.

“Please excuse me, I see no point in continuing this conversation,” he said, heading for the door.

“What is this supposed to mean? Mister Lord won’t have his picture taken for the biggest company on the toys market?! Say something, Victoria, or I’ll be very, very upset!” the client shouted in outrage.

“I’ll try to think of something, sir,” muttered Victoria. “But not now. Matthew is ready to shoot. Everybody’s waiting.”

“Alright. I don’t care how and when you talk him into it but my brochures have to have a perfect Victorian family on them.”

 

***

Two hours of the photo shoot felt like eternity. Once Matthew gave the all-clear, the crew went to the hall where a buffet lunch was set, while Victoria went to look for the stubborn visitor from the past. She picked up her puffy skirts, shoved her phone into her bodice and resolutely marched off, walking through the halls of the enormous house to the entrance to the ground floor, where a conservatory was set up. The glasshouses, as the chatty desk clerk told her, had been gone since World War II.

Automatically counting steps as she walked, Victoria recalled everything Albert had told her about the temporal shift, about the scientific breakthrough… The pieces of the mosaic formed a picture that defied common sense: she communicated with a phantom from the nineteenth century and had feelings for him that were far from platonic. The magic of his green eyes, the faint growling undertones of his voice, the sharp outline of his prominent cheekbones inexplicably excited her, and she tried to ignore it by diving into work. That was self-preservation instinct. She couldn’t afford to be weak, or it was straight into the abyss, the edge of which she could already feel under her feet. She had been burned before and she did not want this to happen again.

Victoria saw William’s tall figure surrounded by tropical plants and froze in the doorway, hesitating to go inside. Only yesterday it was so easy to talk to this strange middle-aged man who seemed too absorbed in his character, but now she knew, no, she felt, with every fiber of her being, that the man in front of her was the very Lord Melbourne they had heard about in history class.

The terrifying truth was that this man from the remote past, who miraculously had traveled across almost two centuries, somehow became truly important to her in these three days, as if she had been waiting for him every second of her life. This was the inescapable truth.

Melbourne turned around at the sound of her light steps. His gaze was overflowing with sorrow, and Victoria forgot what she had come here for in the first place. Her mind completely blank, she heard herself saying, “My lord, we need to--”

“To you, Victoria, I am William,” he interrupted, taking a step towards her. “This dress suits you magnificently! I meant to say this to you yesterday.”

“William, this might be a silly thing to say, but I can’t help the feeling that when you look at me, you see somebody else!” the words slipped out before Victoria had a chance to stop them.

As if he was caught red-handed, Melbourne looked embarrassed. He fell silent for a moment, stumped for an answer, but then came closer and his big hands wrapped around hers. His gaze fixed on his face was sad and intent.

“I am not going to lie to you, Victoria. When I first saw you and then heard your name, I could not help finding the resemblance striking… Indeed, you reminded me of my queen,” he paused for a second, collecting his thoughts, as he noticed the glistening of the wide open brown eyes that betrayed their owner’s agitation. “But with each passing day, I became more and more convinced that your character, your soul, your way of thinking possess a charm of their own. I have never met a woman like you! And it is not because you belong to a different world that I cannot fully comprehend. I am grateful to fate that brought us together in this elaborate fashion, in defiance of time.”

Victoria could no longer hide her flushed face. She had nowhere to run, she had been caught. She was melting in the sound of his voice that she could listen to infinitely, like a favorite tune.  The world around her stopped existing. There was nothing but his warm hands, gently stroking her fingers, his eyes burning with endless tenderness and passion. They seemed to be breathing in the same restless rhythm, succumbing to the suddenly overwhelming emotions. The distance between them was closing. Victoria could hear the anxious pounding of her heart, nervous like a teenager about to have her first kiss, as William leaned to her lips…

The shrill sound of the phone call unceremoniously ruptured the silence in the conservatory, breaking the delicate spell possessing its two visitors.

“Victoria! I have just read your text! Are you still in Brocket? Is he alright? Has anyone seen him? What am I saying, of course someone’s seen him, with so many people there! It’s such a risk!” Albert’s excited voice shouted into her ear.

“Did something happen?” she asked quizzically, still dazed after the several minutes of sensual intoxication.

“Of course, something happened! Peel, bless his brain, and I have found a way to send our Prime Minister back to his queen, she must be having kittens waiting for him! Call him a taxi, he must return to the city immediately. In two hours, and not a minute later, Lord Melbourne has to be in the spot, the coordinates of which we have calculated. Do you understand? I can’t stress enough how important it is!”

“I’ll do it, Albert, don’t worry,” was all Victoria could say, dumbfounded, feeling tears welling up. She clenched her fists tightly, fingernails biting into the soft skin, finally bringing her to her senses.

“William, it’s time for you to go back to London and… home,” she said succinctly and glanced at Melbourne, who understood what she meant at once. It did not need explaining. Somewhere deep inside the house, an old clock started its doomed chime — Time itself reminding them that its power was absolute and infinite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to Julia. may you meet again.


	6. Chapter 6

[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

Victoria did not turn on the light. She just sank into her favorite armchair and finally let the tears flow. With no time to lose, they hadn’t even had a chance to say a proper goodbye. He had only pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand before he got into the taxi…

Mr. Findus settled beside her, nuzzling his mustached face into her neck, trying to comfort his mistress in the usual cat manner. The silence of the empty flat stung with loneliness, cold despair gnawing at her heart. She knew this wouldn’t just go away. William Lamb, the second Viscount Melbourne could not be her reality, just like she couldn’t be his. She needed to make herself believe that this had been no more than a dream and she had been asleep — or a movie and she, an actress by accident, had only played a part. That the man who possessed her heart was just one of her favorite book characters that cannot live anywhere but in the ethereal realm of dreams and illusions.

But then she remembered the clothes William had borrowed from Albert’s wardrobe to wear at Brocket Hall. They were in one of the unpacked bags. Victoria found the jumper that still smelled like him and pulled it on. She would be strong tomorrow but today she could indulge in insanity a little longer.

To sort out the bags, Victoria had to turn on the light after all, and on the table by the sofa she saw the small silver snuffbox found in the secret room above the library. There was a beautifully written calligraphic note on a sheet of watercolor paper that scattered in abundance all over her flat.

 

_Dearest Victoria,_

_We had no time to say goodbye and we shall have no opportunity to meet again. But you should know that I would be infinitely thankful to Fate for the chance to stay by your side, to hear your voice, to see your smile. Circumstances have gotten the better of us… It is my most sincere hope that you find happiness, and I shall seek comfort in this hope…_

 

For a second, Victoria stopped breathing; for a second, she could feel the warmth of his palms wrapped around her hands, she could see him so clearly, writing his first and last letter to her. Her eyes filled with tears again. The cruel joke of fate was that the love of her life had been born two hundred years too early. They were never meant to meet. She had to accept this and move on, to try again to become that strong and independent young woman she had always thought herself to be.

A phone call pulled her out of her limp prostration. Her mother’s number flashed on the display. The owner of the most prestigious art gallery in Soho found some time in her tight schedule after all to ask after her daughter’s affairs. Of course, she knew from Conroy about the new project and the hurried departure from London.

“Victoria! My darling girl, how are you? Why don’t you ever call me? I have to find everything out second hand,” said the hurt voice on the other end of the line.

“Glad to hear you, Mom. Why do you even ask if John has already told you everything? Other than that, I have nothing new to say,” Victoria was not in the mood for a heart-to-heart.

“Must you always be so prickly? You have to understand that I can’t help worrying about you! If you keep focusing all your energy on work, you will become a desiccated office rat! When I was your age I was already married to your father, and you’re not even trying. Your ill-advised-- Albert is so--” her mother’s voice went into passionate outbursts.

“Mom, please, don’t start again! I’m doing better than ever and I’m pretty happy. Too bad you seem to think otherwise,” she tried to stop the flood.

“Fine, do as you like. But you _are_ spending Christmas with us. I have invited my American friend with her son to stay in our Sussex house. He is such a pleasant young man, an athlete, from a good family and he has a business of his own. And not married yet, mind! If you don’t come, I will be rather upset! So will John!” her mother said, leaving Victoria no way out.

“I will think about it,” Victoria said curtly, feeling exasperation pulsing in her temples. How could this woman resort to blackmail, using her relationship with Conroy! But she always was like this, after her husband had died, she always tried to manipulate Victoria and control her life. Victoria had been independent for years now but her mother never stopped her attempts to steer her in the _right_ direction.

“I hope, my dear, you will make the right decision and give some attention to your family. Oh, and mind you, buy a marvelous dress for the Christmas night. If you can’t be bothered, I can pick something and have it sent to you.”

“Thanks, Mom, that won’t be necessary. See you,” Victoria finished the conversation, feeling relieved. Would she and her mother ever understand each other? She found it hard to believe.

 

***

Victoria spent the next few days with Matthew, who had been working on the thousands of photos taken at Brocket Hall. He stopped trying to hit on his young colleague after he had seen that she only had eyes for one person, that weird eccentric expert who had appeared out of nowhere. After his sudden departure, Victoria looked sad and lost, and this did not escape him either.

They carefully selected the photos, arguing and discussing how to better please the volatile client, who wanted, come hell or high water, the main poster with the lord and the lady — and those photos had never been taken. Finally, having looked through every shot, Matthew came across several candid pictures of their team taken during breaks. Some of them showed Victoria and William caught in a conversation. They looked endearing and the photos only needed some editing and professional montage. Of course, it was despicable to use the man’s pictures without his knowledge and permission but Victoria placated her conscience, saying to herself that this would in no way harm William in his nineteenth century. He must be sitting in the Parliament right now or seeing the Queen, kissing her hand… For a moment, everything went dark before her eyes. _Jealous? Nonsense! Jealous…_

Matthew turned to her and stared right into her eyes, hit by a sudden epiphany.

“Vicky, could you explain something to me?”

“I can try. What is it?”

“Why does this Mr. Darcy of yours look so much like the portraits of Brocket Hall’s owner?”

“Where is this coming from?” Victoria wouldn’t give in.

“Just look, look, the resemblance is striking! If I was insane, I’d say they are the same person!”

“Matthew, you should spend less time looking into your camera, or you _will_ go insane. Lord Melbourne could have been his distant ancestor, that’s all,” she said, feeling her heart lurch in fear and the palms of her hands get wet.

“You’re probably right. And yet… and yet…” Matthew muttered, getting back to work.

 

***

Days before Christmas were filled with fuss and commotion, as always. For some — many — it was a joy. The whole world seemed to have turned into one single crowd of hurrying, scurrying, noisy, agitated lunatics excited about the upcoming holidays.

Victoria hated Christmas. A December night like this one had taken her father. Like everyone else, Edward Kent was in a hurry to get home to spend the Christmas Eve with his favorite girls and miscalculated the speed… That was the night little Vic stopped believing in miracles. Santa, the reindeer, the elves… nothing but stupid fairytales. Now her bulletproof confidence was shattered by the miracle Albert had dropped on her head. However, the magic faded as quickly as it emerged, to leave another stinging mark on her heart.

She shrugged, shaking off the unwanted memories; she looked over the naked trees and the people hurrying by outside her window, wishing she hadn’t said yes to Anthony when he asked her accompany his Christmas shopping. Nevertheless, a promise is a promise. She also knew that Anthony saw her dejected state and she could not blame him for trying to distract her from her sad thoughts.

An hour later, Anthony led her by her arm, chatting animatedly and gesticulating in a wild Italian manner, as he shared the latest celebrity gossip. Victoria couldn’t help grinning, and his witty remarks even provoked an occasional burst of laughter.

Anthony dragged her into small cozy shops filled with all kinds of cute trinkets and made her try on most unthinkable outfits. Somewhere along this merry journey, they found a shop with hundreds of beautiful antique knickknacks lined up behind the glass like forgotten treasures of an enchanted kingdom. Anthony froze in front of one of the displays, his admiring gaze traveling across the array of magnificent cufflinks made by jewelers of different eras. Victoria too came under the spell of the shop owner’s unctuous voice as he demonstrated her the centuries-old pieces.

“See, this one has the monograph of the former owner,” explained the respectable antiquarian. “ _W_ most likely stands for William.”

Turning pale, Victoria pulled Anthony’s sleeve and said that it was too stuffy inside and she needed to get some fresh air. Anthony, however, knew at once why her mood had changed so abruptly and followed her outside without asking questions.

“So, what’s next?” she asked him, feigning exuberance.

“Harrods! We have to take a look at our work! Matthew said the posters were fabulous. And that you look like a real queen!”

“Well, Harrods it is. Just don’t stop by every window, I can’t stand it!”

 

***

Despite her own stern warning, Victoria followed Anthony, gaping at the fantastic installations inside the sparkling windows, those small fairytale worlds luring her into the land of dreams. The legendary Harrods truly justified its never-changing motto, “all things for all people, everywhere”. The vociferous human river flooded the enormous department store, the usual center of attraction for those wishing to get into the spirit of the most magical time of the year.

It didn’t take them long to find the Little Joys corner. Children and adults were crowding here, snatching toys, souvenirs and wonderful postcards depicting Victorian era-style scenes. And everywhere Victoria turned she saw _him_. William stood next to her by the Christmas tree in the luxurious interior of Brocket Hall. Impeccably elegant and slightly prim, as befits a true lord, he looked into her smiling face, his gaze mysterious and affectionate. The candid shot turned out to be surprisingly harmonious. They both were themselves at that moment, instead of posing for the camera, and the feelings and emotions reflected in their eyes were genuine.

Anthony saw Victoria’s face change color again, as she stared at the main poster as if she had seen a ghost. Questions were bursting out and he couldn’t hold them in anymore.

“Look, this might be none of my business, and I didn’t even want to pry. But can you please admit you’re head over heels for your hot consultant. He is incredible, I’ll give you that,” Anthony sighed. “And I saw you two, you were like two pieces of coal in the furnace. Just one blow and you’re on fire! So explain this to me, Victoria Kent, why the hell aren’t you together yet?!”

His words hit Victoria like a racecar at full speed. Proud of her trademark ability to pull herself together in any situation, she would never have thought she would be unable to hide her dismay.

She couldn’t look away from William’s face on the poster. Suddenly, some invisible switch was flipped in her head and everything miraculously became plain and clear. A ray of hope cut through the darkness of despair poisoning her soul. Their encounter could not have been a random meaningless set of circumstances or a mistake of a mad genius. It had to happen in spite of all immutable laws of the Universe.

“You’re right, Anthony! I should be with him, and I will!” she announced with a confidence that shocked her. “I’m sorry, I have to go, I need to find something out!”

With a quick peck on Anthony’s cheek, Victoria left her friend standing in the street in confusion and made her hasty way to the exit, as if she had just remembered a longstanding appointment.

 

***

Luckily, Albert was at home. The usual chaos of his flat had been eliminated by his mother’s care as she watched over her brilliant but terribly absent-minded son. Seeing that she couldn’t convince him to return under her wing in one of the poshest districts of London, Baroness Coburg dramatically dabbed her motherly tears with a lacy handkerchief and went back home. The only difference was that now Albert had to endure long daily phone conversations and anxious inquiries after his health. Even the sober-minded and sensible Professor Peel had to make a solemn promise not to allow his younger colleague to immerse himself into science to the point of insanity.

When Albert opened the door, he was startled by the feverish glint in Victoria’s eyes. She had not been herself after that photoshoot at Brocket, and she only dropped by once after she had returned — to say hello to his mother. There had been a strange melancholy and yearning in her gaze that was now replaced by desperate determination bordering on madness.

“Albert, I believe you! I should have told you a long time ago,” she blurted out once he seated her opposite himself. “I’m so sorry for mocking you, for calling you a lunatic… You have made such a colossal discovery and I behaved like a bitch!”

“No, Victoria, you really have nothing to be sorry for, I understand. Any adequate person would have reacted in the same way. You were quite… humane, even though you did call for the big guns,” relieved and cheered by her unexpected confession, Albert reminded her about his mother’s recent visit. Both laughed, feeling the tension trickle away. “But surely you haven’t come just to tell me you were wrong?”

“I haven’t…” Victoria lowered her eyes. “I also wanted to ask you if there was a possibility to travel to the Victorian England again. Could you make it happen, for me?” she asked. If someone heard her now, they would probably think she was having a psychotic episode.

“You never cease to amaze me! First you say you believe in my discovery, now this ridiculous idea! I think you and Anthony have had one too many cocktail in some fashionable club,” Albert was stunned.

“Look, I am in my right mind and aware of every word I have just said. I just want to be happy. Isn’t this the most normal thing any human being could wish for? Can you take away belief in miracles from someone who has lived without it for many years?”

“I think I know what’s going on. I knew it when Melbourne left that goodbye note for you,” Albert looked away with a sigh. “You have no idea what you’re asking me to do. I let the genie out of the bottle by making the most dangerous scientific discovery after the splitting of atom. People must not be allowed to disturb the fine fabric of time. This can have consequences you cannot even begin to imagine.”

Victoria’s eyes lost their fire. Feeling the hope that had been keeping her warm fade with every passing second, she peered into Albert’s face with such intent, painful despair that the young man shuddered.

“You won’t… you won’t help me?” she said quietly, her voice breaking.

For a few infinite moments, a thick aloof silence settled between them. Suddenly, Victoria realized that Albert still had feelings for her and she had hurt him. His cold blue eyes couldn’t hide a suppressed pain. Finally, he breathed out noisily, apparently making up his mind.

“There is another crossing point I have calculated but I can’t be sure you will end up exactly where you want to get. There is no one hundred percent guarantee in this. This is not a time machine, we can’t set the exact date, hour and minute. A travel like this can be extremely dangerous and unpredictable.”

But his warnings fell on deaf ears. She squeezed his hand and said calmly and without hesitation: “The only thing I’m afraid of is to never see him again!”

 

***

The Christmas Eve was unusually snowy. The soft white snowflakes hovered down from the sky like fabulous birds carrying the anticipation of a miracle on their wings. A true Christmas present for all Londoners. It wasn’t every year that the weather worked wonders to create the festive mood.

If it occurred to you, for some reason, to take a stroll along one particular alley of the snow-covered St. James’s Park at that time of night, you would run into a very odd couple. The young woman was dressed in the nineteenth century fashion and looked like the ghost of a long gone era roaming the old park.

The deep burgundy dress, the one Victoria had worn for the photoshoot at Brocket Hall, was a Christmas present from Anthony. Touched by her surprising request, he had created a winter version of the outfit. He found a thick fur-trimmed cloak and a bonnet to match among his “theater” stock. The image was complete with a small soft velvet handbag embroidered with silk and glass beads. Everybody at that closed theme party would burst with envy and Anthony’s designer genius would be the hot topic in British glossy magazines. Victoria demurely kept to herself what party that would be, because she was not exactly used to lying to her friends. But she did promise him to post a lot of photos on her Instagram.

“What am I going to feel, Albert? What is this going to be like?” she barely contained the nervous shiver taking control of her body.

“You have to walk down that deserted alley, right to the end. Don’t speed up and don’t slow down, like I taught you. According to my calculations, the time portal should open in precisely five minutes. You have to start moving at that exact moment, then you might get into the right stream. Remember, whatever happens, whatever you see, whatever frightens you, turning back is lethal. Once you start crossing over, you will gradually become a part of that other reality, so any wrong move you make before the process is complete can be your last one,” Albert turned pale, convulsively sucking in a lungful of cold air.

They stood there for a few moments longer, looking at each other in silence, until, with a final grateful glance into Albert’s eyes, Victoria let go of his hand and took a determined step into the thickening twilight, disappearing behind the impenetrable curtain of the falling snow.

 

***

One step per three heartbeats. Her fingers curled around the wrist caught the restless beat of her pulse. She could see nothing but the darkness around her and the veil of snow. She almost reached the signpost at the fork in the alley when she felt the ground sinking beneath her feet and the wind growing stronger. Fear shackled her entire being, subduing every cell in her body, every nook and corner of her mind as she, belatedly, realized what she had done. She had challenged the laws of the universe, the laws that were old as time itself. The margin of error could be decades. She might never see William, and she would be doomed to live the rest of her life in a distant bleak century.

These thoughts made every step feel like an unbearable torture but the memories didn’t let her miss a single one. She imagined the warmth of his big hands, the gentle passion in the eyes the color of green amber, his every word and move oozing inner strength, and she pressed her fingers tighter to the narrow trembling vein to count another several brief moments bringing her closer to the precious goal.


	7. Chapter 7

[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

Victoria walked on and on, one stiff timid step after another, sinking into darkness, until she finally heard some muffled rattling noise. At that very moment, she dove out of the snowy ether and made out the silhouettes of the trees in the park alley. Still unsure if what Albert had described really happened, she was afraid to take a look back. But the noise persisted, and she peered apprehensively into the dusk.

An older stocky man in a green uniform was rhythmically swinging a wooden rattle, the noise breaking the peace and quiet of the park and scaring away the lingering strollers.

“A watchman!” she thought and started to make her way towards the still unlocked lacework gate. She could hardly recognize the park landscape she had known so well since childhood. Even the very air she was breathing now had so many unfamiliar smells. She shivered, from the cold or fear, a nervous lump caught in her throat, a sudden panic gripping her mind.

She was alone in this world, where no one was waiting for her. But was she even in the right place — or rather time? That’s what worried her the most. Would she be able to find William? Her head buzzed with questions like a beehive. Victoria took a deep breath and pulled herself together. She wouldn’t want to be caught like some kind of tramp by this unfriendly fellow with a rattle.

When she reached the gate, Victoria picked up her skirts and sneaked out into the dark street. Before she started this extraordinary dangerous journey, she had planned to to look for Lord Melbourne in his residence, Dover House in Whitehall. He used 10 Downing Street, the official residence of the country’s first ministers, only as an office. She had to comb the Wikipedia the night before to get this invaluable information.

She was well familiar with the route but the London streets seemed so strange now. For one, there was no dark colossus of the Parliament with the Big Ben outside the park gate — or the usual noisy crowd of tourists, or the bright lights of the shop windows, or the cars racing by.  All she saw was occasional passers-by in buttoned-up topcoats and top hats scuttling about their business.

Women’s clothes left no doubt that she was in London of the early Victorian era. No one looked shocked to see her — Anthony did a marvelous job with her outfit. Still, a few minutes later, Victoria noticed men’s interested glances. A suspicious individual with a cane in his hand started chasing her, yelling after her and asking what her price was.

Victoria put on pace, her feet getting tangled in the long skirts, but the man kept up with her. “He must have taken me for a--” Victoria was terrified. “Talk about sophisticated manners, crinolines and real gentlemen,” she swore as she recalled her schoolmates’ sigh wistfully as they talked about that romantic era. A dressed up girl strolling the streets of London unaccompanied at night could definitely be taken for a representative of the oldest profession.

Finally, at the end of the square, she caught a glimpse of an older gentleman in a long navy blue double-breasted tunic and a black service helmet with a silver badge. Yes, that was an actual mid-nineteenth century London bobby. With his luscious ginger mustache and tired eyes on a kind face, the man resembled a walrus.

“Excuse me, sir! Would you be so kind as to walk me to the prime minister’s residence? Otherwise, I’m afraid I might get into trouble,” Victoria asked, trying to sound as calm and collected as she could, when she reached the spot the bobby was pacing.

Police Constable Hugh Addington had been on the force for ten years. The measly salary of three shillings a day and shiftwork was all he had managed to achieve in these years. Many of his colleagues had resigned, drunk themselves half to death or had been driven to the life of crime by their empty pockets and caught on it. But Hugh still paced the dimly lit pavement along the row of the government buildings, trying to ignore the contemptuous looks of the city riff-raff, dreaming of a warm pub corner with a pint and of his home with his faithful Nell and their children. He was used to thinking of himself as a regular working Joe despite his uniform, baton and whistle. Hearing a young lady call him “sir” made Hugh feel like a real officer of the law. The transformation was immediate and staggering: he straightened up, feeling and looking ten years younger, his eyes shining like a new penny.

“Very unreasonable of you, Miss… a girl your age, unaccompanied… This won’t do… What are your parents thinking!” he huffed, assuming a dignified air, but then adjusted his helmet in a very businesslike manner and invited her to follow him. His shift had just ended, and another constable had listened to his brief shift report with a surly nod and taken up duty. Now Hugh could hurry off home. And since he was going in that direction anyway, why not walk the pretty Miss to the prime minister’s residence?

Victoria walked next to the policeman, thinking how unchristmaslike deserted and joyless the street was. When they stopped, she saw a building with a classical portico, low porch and massive double front doors. She rummaged in her handbag and found a golden sovereign, which she handed to the constable. Albert, this impractical but softhearted genius, had parted with the pride of his numismatic collection before Victoria’s departure. Her generosity made the bobby grin happily.

“And don’t you go taking solitary walks anymore, young lady. Streets at night are trouble,” he scolded her in a fatherly voice and headed towards the Trafalgar Square looking all dignified and important. The square was still full of life, and many shops offering sweetmeats and other delicious things were open. The family would get a most splendid Christmas present from Papa Hugh!

Finding herself by the precious door, Victoria lost her nerve for a moment but then composed herself and raised the knocker. She stood there in painful anticipation, listening to the anxious pounding of her heart. Where exactly had that hole in the fabric of time calculated by Albert led her? Was this the year when Lord Melbourne lived in this house? How would he receive her? What if he didn’t even remember her? This last thought was the worst of all that swirled in her mind like a whirlpool. The silence behind the door was killing her. Finally, she heard the shuffle of quick footsteps, and a minute later a freckled young man in livery poked his head out of the crack of the open door.

“His lordship isn’t in tonight, kindly come back tomorrow!” the footman gave a stock answer and tried to shut the door but Victoria quickly interrupted him, amazed at her own resourcefulness.

“In this case, I need to see the prime minister’s secretary. This is a matter of national importance!”

Taken aback by her vigor, the young man let her into the spacious lobby and, smiling guiltily, disappeared somewhere inside the house to grant the persistent mysterious lady’s wish.

A serious-looking young man emerged in the lobby — apparently, he was the secretary Victoria had demanded to see. He was somewhat unnerved by the fact that the young lady had come to the prime minister’s residence at this late hour and unaccompanied. The unexpected visit brought back the memory of the rumors of his boss’s previous intimate connections, but surely, the prime minister wouldn’t have encounters of such kind within these walls that were more than his home. It would seem that she had indeed come on some urgent business. The pedantic secretary eyed the lady, thinking that there was something vaguely familiar about her.

He led Victoria into a parlor, where he invited her to sit and asked about the purpose of her visit.

“My name is Victoria Kent. I need to see Lord Melbourne immediately!” Victoria blurted out, fearing the secretary’s answer. William could have easily left for Brocket Hall or any other estate of his. She wouldn’t want to end up out in the streets of London at night. Victoria shuddered and, instead of taking the offered chair, stepped to the glowing fireplace and spread her ice-cold hands to the fire.

“But Lord Melbourne is at the Buckingham Palace at the moment and it’s very unlikely that he will return before late night. You can state your business to me, his trusted secretary. Dawson, at your service!”

“I must speak to the prime minister in person and I am willing to wait for you to inform him of my visit,” Victoria bit out, as if the man was just a regular stroppy office manager.

The secretary was dumbfounded.

“And how would I know, Miss, that he is aware of your person and your business? If this is indeed a matter of national importance and you do have an appointment, why hasn’t he left any instructions for me?”

“I can demonstrate you his note as an indirect proof. I must cover the text but you will surely recognize the signature,” Victoria pulled the sheet of the watercolor paper folded in four out of her handbag.

Having made out Lord Melbourne’s signature, the secretary sniffed in astonishment but stopped asking questions and offered the visitor a cup of tea instead while he sent a messenger to the palace. “Ah, the delights of a life without cell phones and the Internet,” thought Victoria mournfully and prepared for the long wait.

After everything that had happened to her here in the past hour, she was in the state close to shock. Trying to get used to her surroundings, Victoria kept telling herself that William had had it a hundred times worse in her own twenty-first century. She at least had a vague idea of the Victorian era from books and period movies, while he had faced the unknown.

She needed to do her best to look nonchalant while she was waiting — and try to drink the tea Melbourne’s secretary had been so kind to offer her. Still, despite her best intentions, the cup trembled in her hands and her eyes kept turning to the face of the enormous tall-case clock.

 

***

The Buckingham Palace was entertaining quite a wide inner circle of the royal couple on Christmas Eve, because the queen, who had given birth to her first child, a girl, a little over a month ago, wished to be the center of attention and have fun. Many of the courtiers would prefer to spend this evening with their families, but the court etiquette, which the queen followed fervently, and Her Majesty’s wishes stood above anyone’s personal interests. After the tea, everyone gathered in the music room to play cards and perhaps the piano and pretend that nobody was bored on this remarkably long evening.

An absent-minded Melbourne sat at the card table watching Lord Alfred and the Duchess of Sutherland make small talk, laugh forcedly, trying to resuscitate the comatose company. The game was falling apart. Feeling gloomy and irritated, William thought bitterly that he must be getting old since it had been happening often lately and for smallest reasons. The queen’s selfishness and her jealous attention towards him, despite her new roles as wife and mother, were more ridiculous and increasingly bothersome. Everything that excited and occupied his mind for the past three years now, on closer examination, looked routine, mundane and vexing. William cast a glance at Albert, who was flipping through the sheet music, showing no interest whatsoever in his surroundings, and inadvertently felt sorry for the young Coburg prince. He had been trying to blend in the English establishment for a year and had to adjust his behavior to his crowned wife’s whims and tastes every day. For now, Victoria succeeded in keeping her consort away from the affairs of state but time would tell if her husband would be able to realize his considerable ambitions.

Deliverance came in the form of the Baroness Lehzen, who slid into the room like a silent shadow to call the Queen away to the nursery. Now they could leave the table and stay in a relative solitude at least for a while. “How splendid it would be,” thought the bored prime minister, “to find an excuse to bow out before the evening is over and leave the palace, to take off this jacket and open a new bottle of brandy.”

Melbourne walked to the high window that looked out on the park bathing in the purple twilight. Peering into the dance of white flakes, he recalled again in minutest details, as he had done increasingly often lately, those three crazy November days and that… girl from the other world. Again, for a moment, an aching yearning and unease gripped his heart.

When he returned to his familiar world, to his many affairs and responsibilities, William felt an aching, crushing void inside — the feeling was not unlike the one he had in February, after his little queen’s spectacular wedding of. It had taken him quite some time then to resign himself to the inevitable, to subdue his feelings and try to find comfort in his daily toil. And now some unknown will introduced into his settled quiet life another, strange and exciting, woman who was unlike any he had met before. So close and so dreadfully faraway. Another Victoria…

As if by magic, the lanky figure of one of his footmen emerged in the doorway. The palace footman took the note from him with an air of importance and served it to the prime minister on a silver salver. Melbourne recognized his secretary’s handwriting. His perplexity grew as he read the message. Was Fate playing another trick on him?

 _My lord, a young lady came to the house after six o’clock and she wishes to speak to you and you alone. I would not have dared bother you if it was not for the letter written by your hand that she has presented. What shall I do with regard to Miss Kent’s business? I_ _am_ _a_ _waiting your instructions._ _Dawson_ _._

“This is impossible!” William said aloud, forgetting himself for a moment, his suddenly pounding heart, nevertheless, already carrying him away from the palace. Lady Portman shot him a curious glance — her friend looked animated and concerned. Melbourne approached Prince Albert to excuse himself from the party, asking him to relay his sincerest apologies to the queen and made a hasty exit. A matter that brooked no delay required his immediate return to Dover House.

 

***

He found his own quick steps on the floor of the cold palace halls too slow and it took him an act of will to keep appearances and not break into a run. His carriage too moved excruciatingly slowly — the road home had never felt so long. Barely containing his nerves, he crossed the lobby and finally stepped into his parlor.

In the soft light of the fireplace she looked like a magical vision, a little lost princess with big dazed eyes on the pale face. He had never seen the always collected and businesslike Victoria so helpless and distraught… But next to the night guest stood his young secretary, and Melbourne had to school his features into a formal, almost cold, inscrutable expression.

“Good evening, Miss Kent. How can I be of use?” he said dryly.

Victoria froze in her armchair, unable to rise, as if her feet were glued to the floor. She stared at the man, for whom she had jumped headfirst into this reckless adventure, leaving her old life behind. The chilly welcome frightened her. What if her worst nightmare had become real and he wasn’t recognizing her? But a moment later, the vicelike grip of fear relaxed, letting go of her tormented heart — she saw the dazed but deliriously happy smile dancing in his clear green eyes and nearly melted in it.

“My lord, the information I have to share with you is strictly confidential,” she said mysteriously, playing along, “and I cannot disclose it in the presence of your secretary.”

William gave his shrewd assistant a meaningful look and the young man understood without words that he was to leave the room immediately.

As the footsteps faded in the hall, Victoria realized she had no idea how to act around William, what to say, how to explain her sudden appearance. All her confidence and determination seemed to have evaporated. She just stood in the middle of the room, waiting, petrified.

Picking up on her momentary dismay, Melbourne took a step forward. He pulled her into his arms, carefully and gently, just as he had done when they were saying goodbye in the Brocket Hall conservatory, and gazed intently into her staring eyes that brimmed with panic.

“You are the most amazing Christmas present Fate has ever given ne,” he said, tilting his head a little, his smile warming her soul, his gentle voice soothing her mind.

And Victoria suddenly thought that in the slow dance of snow outside the window, in the dry cracking of flames in the fireplace, she could feel the magical breath of a true, long-awaited miracle.


	8. Chapter 8

She stared at William for a few excruciating moments, hesitant to believe that the plan had even worked. He was right in front of her, right there — or rather, _she_ was. No longer was an infinite chasm of time separating them. Finally, the wall of her composure cracked under the stress of the last two hours, and Victoria burst out in tears like a child, burying her face in his chest. Struggling to find the right words, William put his arms around her instead and held her tight.

And so they stood in the flickering half-light of candles, in the dancing gleams of the glowing fireplace, growing aware of this new reality fate had woven for them. He cupped her tear-stricken face she was trying to hide, ashamed of her weakness, and gently kissed her cheek, then the other one and she froze as his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. But, as much as he longed to throw caution to the wind, his ever-present self-possession brought him back to his senses — he could not indulge in more while they were in this house. His gaze grew concerned and determined.

“Victoria, unfortunately, your unexpected appearance here, in my official residence, can cause too many unnecessary questions. I cannot put your reputation — or mine, for that matter — at risk. But I do know what we should do. I am going to take you to Melbourne House, to my sister Emily. She will accommodate you until tomorrow, and once the circumstances allow, we shall leave London together.”

Victoria nodded, feeling safe and protected, giving herself to his will completely and without hesitation, for the first time in years allowing someone else to make decisions for her.

Melbourne rang the silver bell and the secretary emerged at once.

“I shall need you tonight, Dawson, wait for me. And please accept my most sincere gratitude, your actions with regard to this lady’s matter could not have been more appropriate. Have the carriage prepared, I am leaving immediately!”

The tone in which Melbourne gave his orders betrayed a man used to having his way and Victoria wondered what he was like in anger or in a bad mood.

A few minutes later, they stood in the lobby, preparing to leave. The butler had received a terse instruction and obeyed — Melbourne censoriously looked over the dark men’s caped coat that hid Victoria’s delicate frame completely. No one outside was to see the young lady that had paid Dover House an almost scandalous visit at this late hour.

Melbourne came down the porch in near darkness and offered her his hand to help her into the carriage. To Victoria, crinoline was a torture device rather than an item of clothing. She had so much to learn about this world. She caught herself thinking that her mind was not altogether in the nineteenth century yet, that the minute the carriage turned to the Trafalgar Square she would finally see the usual bustling life of the night London, the Christmas lights of the shop windows on the Piccadilly. But the quiet — broken only by the occasional patter of hooves on the pavement and the rattle of carriage wheels — reminded her that she was indeed in a different time now.

William sat opposite her — as required by decorum. A gentleman was not supposed to occupy a seat next to a lady. But when the footman carefully closed the doors and folded the step and the conspiring half-light enveloped them, Victoria thought it was the perfect time to throw convention out of the window.

“It’s so cold in here,” she shivered rather pointedly, even though her coat was very thick and warm.

The corner of Melbourne’s mouth twitched in an understanding smile — he saw right through her cunning plan and was more than willing to play along. And once he sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders to warm her up, he felt her tremble and could not hold back anymore. Their lips finally met and an overwhelming, incomparable joy filled Victoria. Never before in her life had she experienced such excitement, such slow, lingering bliss and she wanted to drink it all to the bottom. She forgot all the ordeals of this weird day, surrendering to the long-anticipated, agonizingly gentle yet scorching kiss, feeling the flame of desire consume them both.

The carriage reached the destination surprisingly quickly. The magnificent Melbourne House stood at the far end of the street, indeed just a few blocks from Dover House. As the horses slowed down, Victoria and Melbourne shook off the sweet madness that possessed them and hastily took their proper seats, trying to catch their breath. Listening to the footman’s approaching footsteps, they exchanged ecstatic smiles in the darkness of the carriage, like two conspirators plotting something impossible, something unimaginable. Melbourne thought to himself that he was acting like a schoolboy in love. Stealing kisses in the cold carriage, fancy that! He covered her hand with his palm in a fleeting soothing gesture and stepped out of the carriage. The welcoming lights of the Lambs’ London mansion awaited them.

 

***

This was how Victoria had felt being introduced to another aristocrat, Baroness Coburg. She was apprehensive and nervous but still managed to make a good impression and win her then future mother-in-law over. They remained on friendly terms even after she and Albert broke up. Now, Victoria said to herself, she was just an actor in a live theater performance and had to fit in the play to become a part of this world. Only William was real to her, the sole reason for this insane adventure, the consequences of which were still hard to predict.

Those were her thoughts as they were crossing the marble entrance hall. An obliging footman took Victoria’s coat and bonnet. She turned and suddenly, in the large Venetian mirror, saw a stranger with glowing eyes and crimson lips — was that really her, an independent, emancipated young woman, a talented graphic designer and soon-to-be deputy head of department?  

But Melbourne’s commanding hand touched her shoulder and she felt her doubts and fear vanish.

The large, exquisitely furnished drawing room was warmed by the fireplace. A middle-aged but very beautiful and well-groomed lady in a stunning light gray satin dress rose from the sofa and hurried towards them.

Melbourne met his sister midway.

“Happy Christmas, Emily! Apologies for this impromptu visit — I must ask you a favor. But first allow me to introduce to you Miss Victoria Kent,” he said, kissing the woman’s hand and proffered cheek.

Victoria, who had been standing behind William, took a step forward and the women’s eyes met. Lady Palmerston held out her hand for a friendly handshake, and Victoria curtsied instinctively, momentarily touching the satin glove. Astonishment shone through Emily’s aquamarine eyes. She cast a quick concerned glance at her brother, who nodded slightly in response. Emily finally collected herself as she realized upon closer examination that the slight figure did not belong to their queen. The girl standing next to Melbourne was a little older and had honey brown eyes and dark chestnut hair, and there was an evident lack of the patent petulant royal twist in the curve of her soft smile.

Melbourne cleared his throat, distracting his sister from her uneasy thoughts.

“Do you see now how Miss Kent’s presence in my residence could cause needless gossip? I thought of you and Henry — I hope it was not too presumptuous of me?” he almost purred the last sentence in his most charming voice, causing the ladies to laugh in spite of themselves. It cleared the air and Emily, remembering her duties as the lady of the house, ordered the servants to notify her husband of the guests’ arrival and serve champagne and cold starters in a quarter of an hour.

Lady Palmerston had finally found happiness in her late marriage and the twenty long years of waiting made her heart sensitive to the feelings of the people she loved. Her brother held the mysterious girl’s hand so gently and his voice sounded so excited that Emily realized that William’s feelings were far from paternal. He only was like this when a woman really touched his heart. He looked younger than when they had last met, and his loving sister could not be happier for him. After the queen had married Prince Albert, William was crushed. He never showed it but his life seemed to be devoid of all meaning. He diligently carried the burden of state affairs, accompanied the queen on formal occasions and visited the Buckingham Palace as her private secretary almost daily. His sole joy and comfort in that trying year was his reclusion in the library of Brocket Hall where he worked at his translation of St. John Chrysostom.

The pieces fell into place when William’s message with the request to receive him and his companion at the earliest possible moment arrived. This new Victoria’s resemblance to her crown-bearing namesake was striking and rather… damaging. Emily now understood her brother’s caution and secretiveness.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Kent! I trust you will find our company pleasant enough,” Lady Palmerston smiled at Victoria, her eyes sparkling with sincere fondness. “William, you are indeed fortunate today — we did not expect to be home so soon. The evening at the Spencers’ was so utterly boring and Henry yawned so desperately that we fled before dessert was served. I am happy for you,” Emily lowered her voice, softly touching his arm. “Don’t worry about the girl,” she looked significantly in Victoria’s direction and invited the guests to take seats on the blue satin sofa.

Henry was enjoying the solitude of his study in the company of sweet port and did not expect any visitors but the sudden arrival of his brother-in-law and boss was a nice surprise. The Foreign Secretary came down to the drawing room still wearing his dress coat, although his necktie was no longer as immaculate as the necktie of a noble gentleman should be. He was in a playful mood largely helped by port, his lively, sly eyes scrutinizing the new face from under a high Socratic forehead.

“What a company for the Christmas Eve, the highest ranking officials of the nineteenth century Britain!” Victoria still had a hard time believing the reality of it all.

Five minutes of small talk later, Lady Palmerston suggested that she and Victoria should excuse themselves for a while to give Victoria a chance to freshen up and have a little chat while the men dealt with some matters. They exited through the adjoining room and found themselves in the cold front half of the house. Emily turned out to be a most pleasant conversation partner, and it was not long before Victoria forgot all her worries, listening in fascination to her talk about the house, its history and the works of art collected by several generations of the Lambs, who had been awarded the title of Viscount Melbourne towards the end of the last century.

William wanted to have a delicate conversation with Henry concerning Miss Kent’s stay in their house. The viscount was sure that his old friend, brother-in-law and fellow Whig would understand. Indeed, it did not take much explaining. The matter was settled: Miss Kent would be the guest of Melbourne House until morning. Meanwhile, William was to tend to his most time-sensitive affairs at Dover House, send a private message to the queen through Henry explaining that the prime minister was retiring to his beloved Brocket to take a break from work for the duration of the holidays.

When the ladies returned to the drawing room, the champagne and the starters were already served on the small card table. The company made themselves comfortable on the sofas and engaged in an easy conversation. Lord Palmerston’s charming jokes made Victoria smile, adorable dimples blossoming on her cheeks. Feeling faint stabs of jealousy, Melbourne couldn’t help noticing that his friend was overly courteous and sweet with the young woman. William’s gaze grew hard and even slightly predatory, letting Henry know that the demonstration of such zeal and habits of an expert womanizer in his presence were not appreciated. However, he correctly presumed that Victoria’s short stay in this house would not cause any trouble or provoke jealous scenes on the part of his sister.

“Well, to my deepest regret, I have to take my leave. My secretary is still awaiting me at Dover House so that we could finish the papers. Miss Kent and I shall depart for Brocket Hall in the morning,” Melbourne shot Palmerston another meaningful look. Henry nodded in understanding and let out a faint disappointed sigh.

Victoria realized that a tête-à-tête between her and William was not happening tonight. “Damn all this politesse!” she thought with frustration, giving him a taut smile. Melbourne bowed and pressed a gallant goodbye kiss to the back of her hand. Outwardly, he was reserve personified but the emerald fire of the look he sent her as he was leaving kept her under its spell for a while.

Lady Palmerston was consumed with curiosity. Her brother was too reserved and never told her where and how he had met this girl. Where was she from? Was she one of those Kents, the prosperous Sussex gentry Emily had known before her first marriage? But she decided to be cautious and employ her famous tactfulness. She couldn’t well descend on the obviously tired girl with questions, could she? Besides, there were things one could see without asking. Judging by Victoria’s proper but slightly odd manner of speaking, she had lived in London for quite some time now. She looked and held herself like a proper lady too, obviously unmarried — no rings on the well-groomed hands but a fanciful watch on the wrist. William’s present? No, a self-respecting lady never accepted presents from men before a formal engagement. Well, now Emily had something to think about…

When Melbourne’s carriage took off, Emily suggested that Victoria should go upstairs and see her rooms. There was also the matter of the wardrobe for the young lady, who had nothing except the clothes she was wearing and the small soft embroidered handbag. William had asked his sister for this favor while Henry was telling Victoria a favorite story of his, one of those he had in store special for ladies’ ears.

“My eldest daughter has recently become a mother — thus, obviously, making me a grandmother. She too is quite petite and slender so those of the gowns from her dowry that she never had a chance to wear are at your complete disposal. They will go out of fashion before she regains her girlish figure. She and I shall look tomorrow what could be sent to Brocket,” Lady Palmerston said and, seeing Victoria’s embarrassment, added with a disarming smile, “That is, if you have no objection.”

“I have no objection at all. I am grateful for your concern, Lady Palmerston,” Victoria smiled — and yawned, feeling the remaining strength seeping out of her body. Realizing it was time to let her young guest have some rest, Emily hurried away with a promise to send up her dresser.

Victoria was grateful to Lady Palmerston for her thoughtfulness. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was going to take off the voluminous dress and undo the lace of the corset by herself. “William would probably handle it in no time,” she thought suddenly, recalling the photoshoot, and blushed.

Soon the dresser knocked at her bedroom door to help her with the dress and change into a brand new nightshirt that reached her toes. “Well, here’s a garment that wouldn’t put inappropriate thoughts into anyone’s head. How did they even manage to seduce their men in something like this?” Victoria thought, climbing into bed. Outside the window, the snow was still falling. Fatigue washed over her but there was also a sharp, persistent yet somehow languid yearning as she thought back to that furtive reckless glance Melbourne had given her earlier that night.

Her eyelids were heavy but sleep wouldn’t come. She thought about her home, she remembered Mr. Findus’s sad face. He must miss her so much… although Albert had promised to take care of the rascal and she knew she could count on him. Her mother, of course, would be livid when she got the e-mail with her apologies and explanations that Victoria wouldn’t be visiting on Christmas because she would be on a plane to Goa, because she needed a break from the civilization. She would meditate on the ocean shore, with her phone turned off — the immersion had be total, no interruptions. That was the only thing Victoria had managed to come up with as she hastily sorted out everything that had to be done before her impossible adventure. She had at least until 2 January, while the agency was on Christmas holidays, before they missed her at work. As to what would happen next, Victoria had no idea…

She dove under the down duvet with a sigh. Her hand snaked under the pillow searching for her phone to set up the morning alarm — force of habit — and laughed quietly at herself. It wouldn’t be easy to live in this world that had none of the twenty-first and even twentieth century things she was so used to without even realizing it. Still, Victoria felt that none of that mattered — she only wanted tomorrow to come sooner, as she couldn’t wait to hear the dear voice again, to feel the calming warmth of his hands. She closed her eyes, going through all the events of this extraordinary day, and fell asleep with a blissful smile on her lips.


	9. Chapter 9

[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

When the morning light started seeping through the frosty panes of the wide windows of Melbourne House, its halls were already bustling with life. Practical and efficient, the lady of the house was an early riser and she had been up for a long time, personally supervising the arrangements for her young guest’s departure for the Lambs‘ family estate. A girl named Rosie, a young bright thing she had brought with her from Derbyshire a while ago, was going too — Rosie had already proved herself an indispensable assistant to Lady Palmerston’s head dresser and would be perfect as Miss Victoria’s maid in Brocket Hall.

Ensuring the comfort of William’s lovely young friend was Emily’s way of thanking her brother. A remarriage of the 5th Earl Cowper’s widow was impossible without the queen’s personal consent and Lord Melbourne had taken care of that. She and Henry were finally joined in holy matrimony; she just wished it had happened much earlier… She decided to also contribute to this good cause the second family carriage that they did not have much use for this season. It would also help keep up appearances, since the arrival of an unaccompanied young lady at the estate could start unwanted gossip.

Of course, Emily was bewildered when the mysterious girl emerged in their house. She and William had always understood each other well, sharing their feelings, adventures and secrets since they were children. Could it be that her brother had finally found his soul mate after all these years? Was he willing to risk his reputation and career?! Life had tested him to the limit so many times, plunging him into despair, and he rose every time getting stronger. The memory of the unfaithful Caroline who had smashed her elder brother’s youthful ideals to pieces came, unbidden and inappropriate, the chill of unease trickling into Lady Palmerson’s heart despite common sense.

 

***

Victoria opened her eyes, stretched her arms with satisfaction, lifted her head off the pillow and dazedly looked around the room. It wasn’t the usual rumble of car engines outside or the familiar tune of her phone alarm clock that had woken her. The new reality was approaching her in the form of a pretty ginger girl in a formal gray dress and a white apron. Apparently, the ever thoughtful Lady Emily had sent help. But it was definitely not the same dresser as the day before. The girl curtsied.

“Good morning, Miss! The name’s Rosie, I’m your maid,” she said a bit shyly. “May I help you dress for breakfast?”

Startled, Victoria almost said, “Thanks, I can do it myself”, but then she remembered where she was.

“Nice to meet you, Rosie. I suppose I won’t manage without your help indeed,” she smiled.

She quickly left the soft embrace of her down bed and put herself in the deft caring hands of her new maid, who brought all the washing paraphernalia and warm water and then laced up Victoria’s corset and helped her into the gown.

“Can you do anything about this?” Victoria frowned at her tangled hair. She had styled them into a semblance of a Victorian hairdo yesterday, hoping that the bonnet would hide the flaws. But now, without a blow-dryer, hair styler or hair spray, she had no clue how to fix it.

“Oh, Miss Victoria, of course I am not as skillful as my mentor, Lady Palmerston’s dresser, but I too can comb your hair quite prettily.”

Soon, thanks to Rosie’s efforts, Victoria’s hair was made into a neat high knot. She smiled back at the other Victoria in the mirror of the dressing table, registering that her gaze was calmer and her face looked fresh and rested even without makeup. She couldn’t find any in her handbag; in her haste, she had forgotten to take anything but a lip balm and a bottle of perfume. She would have to ask Rosie what they did for makeup here.

She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply as though she was going to jump. A new day awaited, promising so much to her inquisitive spirit that never balked from challenges. She had chosen this path and she would follow it through, no matter what discoveries might lie in her way!

When she met the hospitable masters of Melbourne House at the breakfast table, Victoria was surprised at how easy and effortlessly she could talk to the people who belonged to the time that was so different from hers. As she laughed at yet another one of Lord Palmerston’s witty remarks, she wondered if it was because nice, agreeable people remain as such regardless of historical period.

After breakfast, Victoria, her bonnet and her fur coat on, walked impatiently into the chilly foyer. The carriage at the porch was ready for her and Rosie but Lord Melbourne was still nowhere to be seen. Emily understood her concern but she was confident of her brother’s word — he would arrive any minute. Victoria was fighting off unwelcome thoughts. Was it possible that he wouldn’t be able to join her today? She suddenly realized that she was subconsciously angry with the queen, who might be delaying their departure at this very moment under some undoubtedly important excuse. Fumbling with the folds of her shirts, Victoria anxiously strained her ears to catch the rumble of his approaching carriage.

A few tiresome minutes later, she heard the patter of hoofs on the road. The carriage stopped somewhere at a distance, and then came the sound of footsteps on the snow-speckled gravel. Finally, a tall figure in a dandy top hat and dark-blue coat emerged on the porch. She met the warm, soft gaze of the expressive eyes and felt her heart stutter, like it did every time he looked at her or touched her hand in a courteous gesture. This time, however, Victoria’s heart had another reason for trepidation, as she had an extra memory now, an intimate, exciting one — of the kiss they shared the night before, the kiss that was anything but chaste.

“Good morning, Miss Victoria. I trust you had a good night’s rest before the road?” he said, walking to the ladies, a calm half-smile playing on his lips.

“Lady Palmerston took good care of me, she is such an angel,” Victoria nodded without an ounce of pretense.

William bent down to plant a gentle kiss on his sister’s hand, full of sincere gratitude.

“Well, then we shall set out, Brocket Hall awaits!” he said excitedly. He walked Victoria to the carriage. Rosie was already inside.

The carriage with Melbourne’s coat of arms was the first to take off and soon disappeared behind the turn. The second carriage followed it without much haste — the Palmerstons’ coachman knew the road leading to the north out of the city like the back of his hand.

The young women covered their legs with warm traveling rugs, making themselves comfortable. To their delight, they also found a basket full of refreshments — the journey promised to be both entertaining and very comfortable! Victoria’s maid was clearly excited. She would see Brocket Hall for the first time in her life, and the anticipation of something new gave her blue eyes a sparkle of sincere childlike joy. In her lap, Rosie held the small travel toiletry bag, Lady Emily’s gift to her guest, feeling like a consummate dresser and the keeper of little treasures that the lady in her care could not do without.

Victoria was somewhat upset that she and William had to take separate carriages, but she knew that the other option would go against the conventions of his time. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact, thinking about their taxi trip to Brocket. It felt like that trip was a hundred, no, two hundred years away, both figuratively and literally.

The Hertfordshire landscape passed by the carriage windows, snow-covered and almost familiar. Victoria suddenly had a striking realization that she belonged to both worlds. Her old world, the one she had been born into, was a part of her and it dictated her ingrained habits, views and notions, but this new, unfamiliar, strange world was never alien to her either. It seemed to her as if she could feel the breath of this world since she was a child, in the pages of the illustrated albums about old estates and manors, in the books she used to devour — Dickens, the Brontë sisters… Until everything changed. She lost her father and never bonded with her selfish mother, and she had to grow up really fast, making all the big decisions in her life on her own. A daddy’s girl, an intelligent, gentle wide-eyed idealist, she suddenly found herself alone, deprived of the love and support of the person she was closest to. She could only find comfort in the occasional meeting with her paternal grandmother, Lady Abigail, and their heart talks. Growing up, choosing her future profession, studies and her relationship with Albert — all that was in parallel to the hectic, busy life of her socialite mother, the disconsolate widow. Once she left puberty behind, Victoria became distrustful, harsh and independent. At least, she had been trying to all this time — until that bizarre rainy night, when she found a mysterious stranger with most beautiful green eyes and impeccable manners dripping wet on her sofa. In an extraordinary, inexplicable way, in just a few days, he had managed to make her feel soft, fragile and truly feminine. If she had to travel through time again to be with him, she wouldn’t hesitate a moment.

 

*** 

At least an hour had passed since the last of the London suburbs disappeared outside the window and the road became empty. Rosie, having had enough of staring into the window, dozed off on her seat, pulling the warm rug tighter around her shoulders, but Victoria could not reign in her agitation. On the crossroads, the coachman suddenly pulled the carriage to a halt. Victoria froze in expectation, her memory offering fragments of movies and books in which audacious bands of robbers pounced on carriages. She impatiently looked out of the window and her unease faded when she saw Melbourne’s carriage. He was waiting for her — to invite her into his carriage. He offered her his hand and, after a moment’s delay — she had to warn the sleepy Rosie — Victoria followed William. His valet, a short stocky fellow with shrewd eyes, politely bowed to her and ceremoniously climbed into Lady Palmerston’s carriage. Melbourne had briefed Hopkins on the subject of proper behavior in the company of Miss Kent’s young maid, in a tone of voice that left no room to doubt that the instructions were serious.

When they finally sat across each other in the carriage, Victoria and William took a few minutes to just enjoy this temporary seclusion. The morning chill was sneaking inside, and Melbourne took his gloves off to gently cradle her hands in his palms, every once in a while bringing them to his lips, warming them with his breath. Their dialogue was a silent tenderness one feels after a long separation from someone dear, when words or actions seem unnecessary and even wrong.

Melbourne had to handle another important matter before their arrival. Staying in the company of a young unmarried female guest required a strong, convincing reason. Being the head of the family and the oldest sibling, he was responsible for the wellbeing of the numerous elderly distant relatives, as well as young people who were still in their family’s care. A few questions about Victoria’s family and the place of residence of her paternal ancestors finally provided a solution. A Sussex gentry family by the name of Kent could be distantly related to William’s late mother, Lady Elizabeth, née Milbanke. Victoria was old enough to be taken for Lady Elizabeth’s great niece, whom William was taking into his care, which made her stay in the Lambs’ family estate socially acceptable.

The road smoothly descended to a splendid Palladian style bridge, and Victoria gasped as she took in the breathtaking view of the lake and the estate on the hill.

“I think I have been here before,” she smiled mischievously.

“I think so have I,” Melbourne deadpanned, and both burst out laughing at the memory of their little adventure of a photo shoot. Anthony’s outrage, Mona’s petulance, the deliverance from the vicelike grip of the corset, the secret room above the library, and the conservatory…

“Although your time was full of incomprehensible and sometimes even shocking things, I found the tradition of decorating a tree for Christmas quite lovely. I think I should adopt it,” said William.

“And Anthony is certainly going to release a line of men’s neckties and arrange a couple of master classes on how to tie them properly,” Vic smiled back.

“I should think there is nothing wrong about cultural exchange between eras, seeing that fate allowed this time-twiddling. Most importantly, this unexpected concourse of circumstances brought me the gift of making your acquaintance, Victoria.” The warmth of his eyes and his voice enveloped her, banishing all her doubt and nervousness. As for William, he suddenly clearly felt that for the first time in years, he wasn’t running away from happiness but moving closer to it with every passing moment.

The carriages slowed down before they stopped at the entrance to the stone bridge. Victoria had to rejoin Rosie. Melbourne youthfully sprang out of his carriage, forgoing the step, and offered his hand to the lady. Victoria stepped down into the clear sharp air filled with the faint smell of chimney smoke and the festive ringing of the bells in the family chapel. He pressed a kiss to the back of her gloved hand, finding a spot above the cuff. His unkindly gaze followed Hopkins, who hurriedly jogged back to his master’s carriage. The red puffy blotch on the cheek and the wicked expression in the eyes betrayed the valet. He had indeed done his best to be a gentleman and made only one mistake when he reached for the basket with the food. In the midst of this harmless maneuver, the carriage jolted on a bump, making his hand slip and land on a pleasantly round knee instead of the targeted wicker handle. The reaction of the respectable maid was lightning-fast, and the gentle hand of this English rose made a heavy impact on the man’s coarse cheek. Rosie hadn’t expected her action to have such a prominent effect but the entire left side of His Lordship’s valet’s face flushed angry red. Her cornflower-blue eyes dropped to the carriage floor in embarrassment as she asked sympathetically, “Does it hurt, Sir?” Hopkins, a reputed ladies’ man, in his ripe experienced age of thirty-five, found himself at a loss, unsure whether he should be scolding the silly girl or just laughing. His womanizing skills and his natural bad boy charm always found a quick way to their hearts, and he was not prepared for a rebuff even in smallest things.

Rosie sat in the corner in a very dignified manner and was surprisingly calm, answering Victoria’s questions about Hopkins’s behavior with the melodious lilt of a Derbyshire native. The girl wasn’t quite as simple as Victoria had thought. “Well, it looks like this homespun playboy will have to reconsider his views on women if he expects to get into her graces,” she said to herself, giving Rosie an understanding smile as she saw the girl’s face blush at the confession.

Soon their carriage covered the last yards of the driveway leading to the front porch of the main house. The footmen were at the ready — the door of the carriage was opened by their obliging hands, and William’s tall figure rose at her side again. He held out his hand, inviting her into his world that had yet to reveal to her its endless secrets and mysteries.

“Welcome to Brocket Hall!” he said, his voice deliciously husky. And she came down, spellbound again with the soft green of his eyes, breathing in his strength and confidence that evaporated every remaining drop of her doubt and fear.


End file.
